The Truth in His Eyes
by The Doctors Champion
Summary: Rose Tyler is a woman with a lot of problems. She works at a coffee shop in Cardiff, and her life has never turned out the way that she thought it would. But when a bloke by the name of David Smith comes in everyday and orders the same thing. Her best friends Rory, Amy and Clara work together as her wingmen to try and get them together. A/U Rated M for adult content
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is inspired by story I read last year. This story is completely A/U and rated M for a reason. This is my first Doctor Who fic, and I would love feedback. Enjoy.**

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My name is Rose Tyler.

I work at a coffee shop in Cardiff named Harkness. I love my job. Some people think it's a below average and thankless job, but I don't. I've met some wonderful people, some of the most important people in my life because of this place. How many people can say that their boss is one of the nicest, funniest, most understanding people they know? Anyways, this isn't a story about my boss. Although he does play an important part. Well, there are a lot of people that have helped me get to where I am now.

It starts something like this:

So there's this guy. A guy with the most amazing hair I have ever seen in my life, and gorgeous smile to boot. This guy never really makes eye contact with me, but comes in and orders the same thing every single day with the biggest smile on his face. I feel really, really stupid every time he comes in. There's nothing I can do properly. I get all clumsy, my hands start to shake, and I trip over everything even my own feet. Now, I've dropped two spoons in the last ten seconds and spilled almost a full bag of sugar all over the counter. I almost knock Amy to the ground as she balances a fresh batch of scones from the backroom.

"Rose!"

"Sorry, I'm sorry!" I apologise, Amy rolls her eyes at me shooing me away before disappearing into the back again.

**Monday, 10:00 a.m.**

I turn to face the counter as he comes in. He looks so smart, like that geeky sort of smart. But no matter how much I want to say something clever, I'm lucky if I can manage a coherent response.

Yet again, instead of speaking like a normal human being, I just stand there looking stupid. My hands shake, and I feel like my stomach is full of bees like thousands upon thousands of them buzzing inside my stomach. No, no not bees, butterflies, because butterflies are a lot less gross, also a lot less threatening then thought of bees, but that's what it really feels like. Oh god, he coming over. My heart is racing. I'm so nervous I feel like I'm going to be sick, I know if I speak I'll say something humiliating.

He moves towards me like a child hyped up on too much candy, bouncing his way from the door to the counter. He smiles his amazing million kilowatt smile and I'm done for. I don't know how to explain it, I'm hooked. I don't know his name or anything about him, but I just want to throw myself at him right here and now. He's lanky, very sexy, and unnervingly focused. He never looks directly at me, almost like he's just as nervous as I am. But that's just crazy. A man like that would never be nervous around someone like me.

"Tea, milk, four sugars." He says.

"Kay," Brilliant approach, Rose. Really bloody brilliant.

He's always so well dressed, everyday suit and tie. Normally he wears a brown pin striped one, but today it's blue. It looks so good over his lean chest, and strong shoulders. His tie is a dark red instead of the black and silver swirl one he wears with the brown suit. On anyone else it would clash, not on him though. On him it's…I am staring. Oh god, I'm staring!

"£1.60." My voice cracks and I try to steady my hand so I don't spill his tea all over him. He holds out the money for me to take. I just stare at it as if it's some sort of alien currency I've never seen before.

Oh no, I've hesitated way too long. His dark brown eyes narrow at me from behind the thick black frames of his glasses. I am now convinced that I have never seen such gorgeous soulful eyes in all my life.

"I'm so sorry. Here you go," I take his money, hand him the cup with trembling hand, praying under my breath that I wouldn't spill it on him. His fingers almost brush against mine. It feels like the greatest tragedy of my life all over again. Again. Every day.

He grins, mumbling his thanks, nods, then he's gone. His thick unearthly brown hair blows in the crisp morning air as he walks out of the big glass doors, and out of my world until tomorrow morning at 10:00 am.

"You know, he's single."

"Huh, w-what?" I ask startled.

A blonde guy with a very large nose sits at the table next to the cash, he glances over the top of his book, his eyebrow arched.

"Who is?" I ask.

"Don't be coy, you know who, Rosie." Amy must have been hiding in the stockroom after our near disaster. She passes by me and sits next to the big nose guy setting a sandwich on his table. She eats a corner of his crust, picking at it smirking slyly. "Mr.10:00 am sharp, tall dark and dreamy."

"Oh. Oh! You mean him... that guy?" Pointing at the general direction of the doors. "Um, okay, well... that's. Uh," I suddenly find myself intensely interested in lining up the sugar decanters trying very hard to seem calm yet failing miserably, "So, you... you know him, huh?" Smooth move Tyler, so very not smooth in the least.

"Rory used to work with him at the college." Amy pats his leg. He nods, a mouthful of ham and cheese sticking from the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, that's, interesting. Really. I didn't, uh." I can't help the slight tremor in my voice.

"Amy, stop eating my crust." Rory bats her hand away from his sandwich. "Yeah, I worked with him. He's, different."

"Um, okay." I wonder is that different good, or different as in sneaks into people's houses to watch them sleep?

Amy chuckles snatching another bit of Rory's sandwich, he huffs but she ignores him.

"You know, he comes in everyday at 10:00am sharp without fail, and he won't come in unless you're working," She curls in next to Rory, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Umm?"

"You know, I've seen him wait outside, just waiting there to see if you're working or not. He has no interest in getting his tea from me, or Clara , or anyone that isn't you."

I feel as if I've been kicked in the stomach. He comes to see me? He only comes in when I'm working? This is all too much. I can't think straight. I need to go. I need to think..

I shrug, sighing heavily, and turn away leaving them behind me to go into the back and freak out without anyone seeing me.

I realize that at 10:00 am tomorrow morning, the man of my dreams will be here. He'll order his tea, from only me, and I will try my very best to keep my cool. Yes, that sounds perfect. What possibly could go wrong with that?

**4:34 a.m.**

Sleeping is impossible. I love my sleep. I cherish my sleep. Sleeping in is the best thing in the world to me. But tonight sleep just isn't going to happen. Groaning, I roll over to look at the clock again. 4:34 am. Only twenty minutes from the last time I checked. I grab my pillow and cover my face. All I can think of is that smile, and those big brown eyes. By the time I had come home, I was so tired I thought for sure I would be asleep before my head hit the pillow. But every time I closed my eyes, thoughts of him swirled through my mind.

Does he really come in to see me? I feel a spark of hope, or maybe it's that gross burrito I had for dinner. Maybe he does likes me, or maybe he just likes how I make his tea every morning.

"I'm hopeless." I mutter to myself, flipping the pillow under my head and rolling over onto my side. A cold wet nose nudges at my hand and I smile. "At least I'll always have you, eh, Mickey?" I hear his tail thump against the mattress at the sound of his name.

I've always had a love for animals. When my ex-boyfriend Jimmy showed up at my place after another blow up fight, and me nursing a black eye and bruised ribs, Jimmy tried to buy back my affections with the most beautiful squirmy little chocolate lab puppy I've ever seen. Of course his plan backfired. I wasn't about to forgive what he did to me no matter how much I loved him. But I wasn't about to turn away such a sweet little puppy face. In the end Jimmy was in handcuffs, a restraining order served, and I was the proud owner of Mickey. That was almost five years ago. There is now a small bit of grey peppered along his muzzle showing his age, however, no matter how bad my days are, Mickey is always there to help me through them.

I run my fingers through his thick fur. He yawns tiredly before slowly drifting back to sleep. I can't help but envy him. The most he has to worry about is when his next trip to the vet will be or if I'll be bringing home his favorite treats from work. I try hard not to think about tomorrow as sleep finally, slowly overcomes me.

**8:45 am**

I'm late, I'm never late but this morning, I'm very, very late. My alarm didn't go off. Normally I'm up at 7:00 am. It gives me enough time to eat, shower, dress, do my hair then feed and give Mickey a quick walk. Did I mention my alarm didn't go off? It was 8:45 before Mickey started to play 'feed me now' hockey with his empty food dish. When I realize what time it is I panic, I feed Mickey outback while I jump into the shower. Today is the day, I am going to be brave. I am not going to mess this up, I'm going to speak to him, and not sound like a complete fool.

Mickey is mad at me when I let him in. He knows there's no walk this morning. He passes right by me, walking back into my room, and jumps onto my bed with a huff. Oh well, I can only hope my house will be in one piece when I get home tonight. Grabbing my keys I run out the door without eating anything, knowing I'll regret it later, still it can't be helped. When I get to work, Clara smiles at me as I come in. She's always so sweet, but I can tell she's a bit frazzled. I missed the morning rush, and as good at her job Clara is, morning rush is a two person job.

"Hey Rose, you feeling okay? I don't think you've ever been late before."

"Hi, yeah, I didn't sleep well last night. Guess I forgot to set my alarm. Sorry."

She shrugs as she happily goes about wiping down the countertop. I head to the back to get my apron and my keys for the till. I'm doing my best not to look at the time. "Keep your cool Rose, he'll be here when he gets here." I tell myself while taking a deep cleansing breath.

Okay now, I like Clara. I like her alot. I really do. She's so sweet and kind. Last year when I got really sick she came to my place and made me a soufflé. Well, okay I think it was a soufflé. It was really crispy, and tasted like burnt rubber. Still she came all the way to my house and made it for me and that was really, sweet of her.

Like I said, I like Clara. She's a really good friend. But right now, at this very moment, I really want to strangle her.

"Ooh, gosh, I'm so, so sorry!" She is driving me insane. She is mashing buttons on the cash register and I don't understand why she hates me and wants to ruin my life like this.

**Tuesday 9:53 am.**

This is very serious. Why is she doing this to me? Does she secretly hate me? Is she trying to ruin what little life I have?

"I don't understand, I did this yesterday." Clara complains, her face scrunching up in frustration. Normally it would be adorable. Right now it is anything but.

The elderly woman smiles waving her hand nonchalantly."It's okay dear, there's no rush. Take your time."

Time is something I definitely don't have enough of. I watch in horror as Clara mashes the buttons again, running the old lady's senior discount card through the scanner for the fifth time. Thankfully, the shop is nearly empty other than a few of our regular customers and Rory. He sat in his regular place beside the counter with a very annoying look of amusement on his face. I swear they are all conspiring against me.

**Beep, Beep, Buzz. ERROR.** The words flash across the screen of the register.

Clara is flustered. This will never end well. I watch as the time changes on the register, 9:55 am.

Alright, I've had enough of this.

Very gently I move Clara out of the way plastering the biggest most nerve wracking smile I can muster. I take the card, punching in the code as if my life depended on it. And at this rate it may very well depend on it. The register beeps once and the drawer pops open, taking the money from the woman, dropping it into the till, then handing her the change.

"There you go Mrs. Miller, have a good day, and see you tomorrow."

"Thank you, you are so sweet Rose. I'll be sure to tell Jack. How nice that he has two such lovely girls working for him."

"It's no trouble at all Mrs. Miller," I can't help but feel guilty for rushing the poor woman out. She's one of our oldest and best customers and one of my boss's favorites.

"Rose! Thank you so much!" Clara quips as Mrs. Miller slowly leaves out the big glass doors. "You're my hero!"

"It's fine Clara, really don't worry about it."

Now she is just stands in front of the register and shows no sign of moving. I want to strangle her, I grit my teeth trying to not let me emotions get the better of me.

"Clara, why don't you-" There is only the slightest hint of panic in my voice.

"How did you do that anyway? I swear it worked yesterday." She mumbles hitting random keys and entering conflicting codes.

Now I know she hates me. Clara Oswald wants me to die alone, a crazy dog lady with twenty dogs.

"Clara, Clara…Stop."

**9:57 am.**

The register blinks and starts beeping letters scroll across the screen reads ERROR, ERROR, ERROR. That about sums up my entire life at this point. I can't help but feel the irony in it.

"Oh. I think I understand now!" Clara chirps cheerfully.

"Clara?" Rory is leaning against the counter on his arms folded resting nonchalantly on the top. I swear he just materialized out of thin air. She looks up at him. He grins at her, and it's really very flirty even I can't help but blush a little.

"Oh, hello Rory."

"Clara sweetie, I was wondering if you could help me pick something nice for Amy?."

**9:59 am**

Oh god, my eyes dart to the glass doors, it's time. Move Clara, move, move before I... My heart sinks.

I see him, but he doesn't come in. I watch as he passes by, his sexy hair blowing in the wind, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. All I can do is watch helplessly as he passes by, and he's not really walking though, it's more like bounces on the balls of his feet.

I am going to strangle you Clara, when you least expect it.

Clara stares at him looking very confused. "Rory, I can't really help you with that, I think Rose would be better at that sort of thing."

"I really want to get something special for Amy, it's our one year, and you have such good taste in… things." He almost purrs the word and it even makes me shiver, he smiles. Again with that smile. He's really good at this. I need to make a mental note, I can use all the help I can get.

"Oh… well. Yes. All right, Rory," she releases the register. I descend on it a little too quickly, "Rose, are you okay working the counter?"

"Mmhmm!" I grin trying not to look too obvious.

Rory smirks then winks at me. He winks! That cheeky little bastard. I'm still thankful, I need to buy him something. I don't know what but it will be something big and amazing.

**10:00 am**

Rory turns away from the counter, leading Clara back to his table, opening up his laptop as Clara leans over his shoulder to watch as Rory starts typing with fervour, and the door opens.

It's him, oh god, oh god. I forgot to check my hair, my makeup, I hope I look alright. He's perfect though, his expensively well-tailored suit, back to the brown pinstripe again. The thought of what he must look like out of that suit makes me blush, even as windblown his hair it's perfect, and he smells so good, I just want to bury my face into his neck, and breathe him in. Okay, now I'm just being creepy.

"G-good morning." He spoke, I mean he always speaks but he, he… Okay, Rose, keep it together! This is going really well. Two whole new words.

He looks at me, I mean, really looks right at me. My heart is racing, and I'm feeling really light headed. I hope I don't die from embarrassment. Okay, I understand. I get it. I have thrown off the rhythm. Our pattern is completely has changed. Everything we have ever known together has changed with a simple. Good Morning.

"Morning." That was good wasn't? Who am I kidding? It's awful.

He arches a perfect eyebrow at me and my face gets even flusher.

"Tea, milk, four sugar." I'm feeling very bold, I'm a rockstar, and I can do this.

"Yep." And he emphasizes the p with a little popping sound, it's adorable. I want him to do it again.

Okay. Come on, Tyler, you can do this, one foot in front of the other. I plop the tea bag in and start to pour the water. It's steaming hot, but only warm through the insulated wall of the cup. Bold curved letters read "Harkness Coffee, Inc." with a swirling J.H as a logo. I dip the spoon in the steaming cup and fish out the tea bag before carefully adding the milk and generous amount of sugar. Okay. Cup. Lid. Perfect. Not one spill and my hands are only slightly shaking.

Turning towards the counter I look up, and he has his hand out, with the money.

"£1.60." He says it, not me this time.

I grin, I can feel my teeth scrape the tip of my tongue, a bad habit I picked up as a child, but he smiles back at me, his gaze on my mouth. We both must look mad, smiling like a pair of idiots over £1.60.

He drops the money into my hand, and the backs of his fingers brush my palm. It feels like an a electric shock. I look at him, bold as I have ever been in my whole damned life, and his eyes slide away from mine, beneath dark thick eyelashes. He's still smiling and I swear he's blushing. I must be seeing things, there's no way.

"See you tomorrow." He says.

"Yes, for sure. I'll be here." It was going so well, don't mess this up for yourself you fool. "I mean, see you tomorrow.

He goes, stuffing one hand in his pocket as he careful sips his tea. The door closes behind him.

Rory darts across my field of vision back to the table where his things are messily strewn. When did he move? I watch him feeling slightly dazed and giddy, letting out a breath I had apparently been holding for a little too long. I really should sit down.

I notice then that his laptop is still open, but now it's angled towards counter. He shifts it back towards himself and ducks into the view of the camera.

The camera…

"Did you see that?" he asks brightly.

I hear Amy's voice through the speakers, "I did, beautiful work, babe!"

"No, you, no…" I toss a rag on the counter, strictly for emphasis, and go to the table.

Oh yes. She watched the whole thing from home.

"You did great, Rosie! He smiled and everything. And that top you picked? Very good choice."

"What's going on?" Clara wedges herself between Rory and myself, "Oh, hey there Amy." She waves enthusiastically at the camera.

"Ugh,I hate you people." I stand up turning away from them adjusting the sleeves of my top.

Amy's laugh follows me back to the counter, "No you don't! We're your wingmen!"

"My what!"

"What's a wingman?" Clara asks looking up at Rory then at the screen to Amy.

"A wingman, Clara dear, is a generous and benevolent being… who helps someone else get laid." Rory says winking suggestively at Clara, she blushes bright red but grins back at him.

"Oh… I could use a wingman! Rose, will you be my wingman? You know since Amy and Rory are yours."

"Clara. I. Err. Ugh. I really hate you all. I don't need a wingman." I grumble grabbing a rag and wiping the counters down for what feels like the tenth time this morning. "Alright." Dropping the rag in defeat, I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Great. So. You two… right. And now you're including me in your, whatever this is."

"It'll be fun and a challenge, sure, given just how painfully awful you are when it comes to good looking men. But yes," Rory exhales, "We have made it our mission to see that you don't screw this up."

"Can I be a wingman then?" Clara asks him, "I want to help Rose, too. Is this about that man? The fluffy haired one?" She sounds conspiratorial.

I groan, dropping my head to the counter and the smell of cleaning fluids assault my nose.

"The more the merrier, I say," Rory grins at her, "Hey Rose, What are you doing tonight?"

"What? Why?" I ask lifting my head to glare at him.

"Well, if you're not doing anything… I was going to invite you to a party tonight that I believe our Clark Kent will be at."

"Clark Kent?" I look up, "That's not his name is it?"

Rory looks at me blankly, "No. No, Clark Kent? Dark thick rimmed glasses, funky hair walks like he's off to save the world? Nothing? No?"

"Babe, you are lovely and wonderful and an absolute beast in bed, but you are such a Nerd."

"Amy, we talked about this, keep the bedroom talk in the bedroom." He sips his coffee, "His name isn't Clark Kent. His name is David Smith."

"Okay…" I clear my throat. David. Dave. Davie. Ugh. I'm feeling bold again. "What's this party?"

He smiles, "Well-"

"Amy, do you not have any clothes on?" Clara is peering into the screen. Rory smirks, and ducks down to have a look as well.

Oh good lord, what have I gotten myself into.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Wow, what an unexpected yet very welcome response to the first chapter. Thank you all so much. I will do my best to keep updates as regular as possible, and this chapter is un-betaed so any errors are my fault. Thank you and reviews are always welcome, and appreciated.**

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**Tuesday, 5:20 PM**

Today feels as if it's never going to end. As soon as five O'clock rolls around I can't get out of work fast enough. Earlier, I told Rory I wasn't sure about the party, but knowing that one David Smith, may actually be there I very quickly changed my mind. I can't stop thinking about him, not like I could stop thinking about him before, but now it's worse. It's one thing seeing him while I'm at work, but it's another to see him out in public. I haven't been to a party since Jimmy and I broke up. I should say when he was put in jail, and that's a long time ago. A very long time.

As I come up to my front door I can hear my phone inside start to ring, there is only one person who calls my home phone, and everyone else I know calls my cell. Almost everyone.

Digging through my purse I fish out my keys to unlock the door, Mickey whines excitedly while I try and fight my way inside. "Move you big lug," I grumble, but as usual Mickey ignores me bumping against my legs as I dash for the phone, huffing breathlessly.

"H-hello?"

"Rose? Oh good you're home." The voice on the other end chirped happily.

"Hi Mum, I just walked through the door. What's up?"

"Oh, I didn't catch you at a bad time did I?" The disappointment in her voice evident.

I try very hard not to roll my eyes. I can feel a guilt trip coming on. "No Mum, I just got off work."

"Oh, that's good dear, are you busy? I was hoping you could come over tonight and help me clear out your old room."

My Mum has been bugging me for months to come over and clear out my old bedroom so she can turn it into a sewing room. One of her new pet projects to pass the days. It's only fair that I go help her, but I've been avoiding this for a while now. Part of me doesn't want to lose that last bit of my childhood.

"Uh, I really can't tonight, Mum. I. Um, I'm going out." I close my eyes waiting for the string of questions. Truth is I hardly ever go out anymore. It's not that I don't have the friends, it's that my life is so complicated.

"You're going out?! Where are you going?"

"Nowhere special, just to a party with some friends."

"Oh Rose, that's wonderful to hear. You haven't been out in ages, not since you and Jimmy… well never mind that. Don't worry about your old Mum, go have fun sweetheart."

My Mother never found out what happened between Jimmy and I she always adored him, and I didn't have the heart to tell her how bad things had gotten. That and because Jimmy has been in Jail for the last five years for assaulting me, and a number of police officers. As far as my Mother is concerned I broke up with him, and he left town. It would break her heart if she had known the truth. No matter how horrible Jimmy treated me, he always treated my mother good.

"I will always worry about you, Mum." The guilty feeling slowly rising from the pit of my stomach. "How about I come by tomorrow, I don't work so you'll have me all to yourself. Ya? You can make us a cuppa, and we'll go through all my old junk then."

"That would be wonderful, I can't wait to see you."

"Me too Mum." No matter how crazy she sometimes drives me, I would do anything for my Mum.

"Now you go and have fun at the party, and tell me all about it tomorrow when you get here alright."

"Okay Mum, I will."

"Love you sweetheart."

"Love you too." Sighing I hang up the phone, part of me wondering if I should cancel on the party, and go see her it's been awhile since I've visited I know how lonely she can get. Looking down at Mickey whose big brown eyes look up at me. "I hope I'm not making a mistake." I say knowing full well that my furry friend cares more about if I brought him some treats from work. "Come on, let's get you outside, then you then you can have your treat." Mickey barks and yelps excitedly at the mention of one of his favorite words. The other being walk, but that's just a close second to his all-time favorite treats.

Putting the dog outside and plopping a few scones into his dish, I pop into the shower to start to get ready for this party. I really hope I don't regret this.

**Tuesday, 6:30 pm**

After my shower I let the dog in making sure he is well fed, and quickly feeding myself. I've learned the hard way never drink on a empty stomach, throwing together a sandwich and a few cookies to tide me over. Then I begin the tedious process of getting ready. We all agreed to meet at my place and take one car over to this… party. Some sort of former-college party for a mutual friend that Rory, and apparently David used to work together. The friends name is Sarah Jane, I had met her once when she came in with my boss Jack. She is a lovely older woman, who I guess is retiring from teaching this year. Not that she is old enough to retire, but from what I heard she wants to travel the world before she gets too old. It's a nice thought, to travel the world, I have always wanted to travel. Unfortunately my life took a different turn, as much as I would love to go to Paris, France or any other amazing places I am very happy where I am. Mostly.

Laying out a number of dresses in all different colours and styles, I decide to go with something nice but not too slutty. I don't want to give David the wrong impression, as much as I would love to tackle him to the ground, and do all sorts of naughty things too him. I am not a slag, so my nice red dress I bought last year when I went to my uncles wedding with do just fine. The dress is sleek and hugs my body in all the right ways, and it shows just enough skin to be sexy but not so much that I look like I'm easy. It takes me almost an hour to put on my make-up and do my hair. It's been so long nothing seems to go right and I huff with frustration. Finally looking in the mirror I'm about as finished as I'm going to get.

Walking out of the bathroom I spot Mickey lounging on the sofa watching me intently. "What do you think?" I ask turning slowly around. The dog cocks his head slightly, then yawns loudly. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," I mutter under my breath.

**Tuesday, 7:45 PM**

Suddenly there's a loud knock at my door startlingly me and sending Mickey into a frenzy of barking and lunging excitedly. Amy is the first to arrive, since she lives in the flat directly above mine.

"Oh, look at you sexy lady. You know, I've never seen you dressed up before." She winks motioning for me to spin around, so she can get a good look. "Very nice, Rosie."

"Do you think so?" I ask feeling the familiar flutter of nerves slowly building up in my chest.

"Hell yes, you're gorgeous. You know I wouldn't lie to you if you weren't." She's right, one thing about Amy I have come to realize over the years we've been friends, and co-workers is that she's very truthful yet never in a cruel way as some people are. Amy Pond is one of the most outspoken kindest people I know.

Before I can respond the doorbell rings through my flat, I curse turning quickly into the direction I had last seen Mickey. There is a loud thudding crash and thundering barking from my entryway, again but this time he sounds like he's out for blood.

"Mickey!" I grumble. "Come here!"

Mickey, bounds around the living room, like a lunatic nearly knocking my legs out from under me. I open the front door and see Rory and Clara standing together.

"I didn't know you had a dog," Rory says curtly, but doesn't move from his spot on my doorstep, as Clara passes by me making a big fuss over Mickey as he happily jumps up licking her face.

I stare at Rory for a bit holding the door open, he just stands there staring wide-eyed at Clara as she plays with my dog. "Come on in, I didn't think I needed to be so formal." I tease but he scowls at me.

"He doesn't like dogs, sweetie," Amy says stepping up next to me. It's suddenly becoming very crowded in the entryway.

"I love your dog, Rose." Clara giggles, gently tugging on Mickeys floppy ears. "What kind of dog is he?"

"Uhh… he's a Chocolate Lab, Clara. Rory, you can come in, he doesn't bite."

"I'm, uh… I'm fine out here. Don't worry about me."

"Rory…"

"No, really. I'm fine. It's a nice night. You look really nice by the way." his hands are buried in the pockets of his dark slacks.

"Um, thanks." Nice isn't what I'm looking for, but under the circumstances I'll take it.

"Ya." He says giving my dog the evil-eye.

"Oh, Rory he's lovely. There's nothing to be scared of look at this face." Clara babbles grabbing Mickey by the sides of his head pressing her face into his, Mickey happily taking in the affection.

"Right. Let's just… let's go. Please." Rory begs taking a single step back from the door.

Rolling my eyes, I collect Mickey from Clara and check his food and water in the yard. He hates being left outside, but since he had be indoors all day I figure it's better that he's outside burning off some of his energy. He looks up at me, betrayal and abandonment in his deep brown, soulful eyes. I scratch behind his ears with both hands.

"I'll be back boy."

So now my motley crew of friends is assembled on the front porch, Rory leans against the door frame looking smugly collected again. Afraid of dogs! Ridiculous.

"Do I look alright? I'm not overdressed am I?" Three sets of eyes scan over me, head to toe and back.

"I think you look very pretty," Clara says, "If I were a man, I'd sleep with you."

"Perfect. That's… well that's something, isn't it?" I grab my jacket and hit the off the lights, closing and locking the door behind me.

"I like your shoes," Clara whispers in my ear and she and I wedge into the backseat of Rory's car.

"Oh yeah?" It was a last minute choice, and I almost wore my trainers. I normally never go anywhere without them. Then I thought that they would make me stand out a little too much, so I opted for a black pair of flats that I bought a few years ago that I never got a chance to wear.

"Yes, very much. Where did you buy them?"

"Uh, I don't remember it was a long time ago."

"You smell like dog," Rory says, wrinkling his nose.

"I just had a shower." I complain slumping down into my seat, trying to smell the sleeve of my dress. I don't smell anything, but it is possible I guess. My dress has been hanging in my closet unworn for years.

Amy begins to rummage through her purse. She pulls out a bottle of something and reaches back to hand it to me, "Here."

"What? Is that perfume? I don't know Amy." At work we have a strict no scented anything. I guess I've just gotten use to not having to use perfumes, and such. Pulling off the cap the strong waft of perfume assaults my nose. It's not a bad smell, it's just... strong, and not something I would normally wear.

"A little bit might not hurt. You are a bit… musty," Amy offers, twisting around and adjusting the seat belt.

"Musty?!" I'm quickly starting to change my mind about this whole thing. Going to my Mothers is sounding more, and more like a fantastic idea.

"Doggy."

"I like it," Clara says, leaning over sniffing me.

"Okay, fine. A bit. I don't want to smell like a floozy." I snap giving the bottle a single squirt around my neck then handing it back to Amy.

Rory laughs and drives, and Amy turns up the volume on the radio. Clara hums along off key. And I close my eyes letting the music lull me into a relaxing state

**Tuesday 8:00 PM**

I use to be great at these kinds of things. Parties. Dark rooms. Loud indistinct music. Cheap beer. Me dancing and trying to look sexy. That was before, now I feel like a fish out of water, standing awkwardly in a room full of mostly strangers.

Whenever I went to parties, I would drink and dance the night away, sometime make conversations with a few guys in hopes for free drinks. Then, I start fantasizing about meeting the guy of my dreams, and he would come in and sweep me off my feet. It's what I like to call, my Pretty Woman fantasy. Except instead of a hooker, I was Julia Roberts, a sexy woman who was born and raised in the bad part of town. A girl who never finished her A-levels, and would never amount to much in the grand scheme of things. Then one night after a few drinks, and intense dancing; I would go to the bar and there would be my Richard Gere, handsome, rich our eyes would meet and… Yeah, it was a crazy fantasy. It didn't take long for me to learn that there were more Jimmy's, than Richards' that went clubbing. That most the men that came to parties have only one thing on their mind, and it wasn't sweeping a girl off her feet.

I'm no longer that party girl, it holds no interest for me. I would much rather stay home with my friends watching movies, or playing cards.

I was never one who picked up men at a party. Or hooked up. Or made out. That only ever happened to me once, and that was Jimmy. I wonder sometimes if the years I wasted with him ruined me. I know that's a daft way of thinking, but the thought is always there in the back of my mind. Not all men are Jimmy. I'm ready and very willing to put all of that behind me.

This party isn't like going to a club, it's more like a gathering of people. It feels comfortable more my style if I have to go to a party, this would be the kind I would go too. I feel so old sometimes. Now my Wingmen are here with me to apparently make up for my shortcomings.

They flank me as we enter the building, it's a store with a friendly hand written sign is taped on the glass doors – "Closed early for private party!" White tea lights are wrapped artistically around the black letters of the sign that say's. Noble's books.

The lights are dim the shop feels cozy a place where one can go spend hours looking for just the right book. Nothing like the crazed wild boom of music and crazy dancing of the club. I forget sometimes that I am no longer a teenager sneaking into the bar, that parties now can actually sometimes, occasionally, be really pleasant. Significantly less sweaty and more civil I like this, I can handle parties like this.

Coiled rope lights on the tops of the shelves provide a little extra warm and friendly lighting, and overstuffed chairs are placed about the place with small round end tables, most likely for the customers that enjoy the comforts of reading in such a home style setting. Why have I never been here before? I have a sudden urge to sink down into the nearest chair, crack open one of my favourite books while drinking a steaming cup of hot coco.

Okay. I can handle this.

Rory grabs beer in dark bottles out of a tub of ice and cracks it open.

"Oh, no, thank you, Rory, but I don't drink," Clara says apologetically, "I guess I should have said so sooner."

He shrugs. "Not a problem," he says, holding two open bottles and drinking from one, "I'll just have to find a new friend to give this one too."

"Remember that we are here for Rose, not for us." Amy adjusts his collar, then smirks.

He holds one bottle in the crook of his elbow and presses his thumb against the cleft in her chin in affectionate gesture, and then he's gone.

I get Clara a pop and the three of us make our way towards the center of the store. The main register is there, and most people are clustered around it in small groups.

A pretty blonde woman is playing the guitar in the café area. Her voice is pretty and lilting. She has what sounds like a French accent? It's so hard to tell when someone's singing.

"Maybe we should sit?" I ask the two of them, pointing and what looks like the most comfortable, cozy reading nook I've ever seen. Plush purple and red cushions call out to me. My feet ache from working all day. What I wouldnt give to just sit down for just a little.

"Rule Number One, Rosie," Amy, grabs my arm, "stay on your feet. Tables and couches are for old boring couples and losers who've checked out of the game, not young single cats on the prowl."

"Which is what you are, Rose. A cat. Prowling," Clara offers making clawing motions with her hand.

I groan at the analogy, I certainly don't feel like a cat of any sort. "We're really doing this? You two weren't joking? There are rules?"

"Yes. No. And Yes." Amy winks.

"Is he here yet? Do you think he's here?" Clara twists and looks around with no sense of subtlety whatsoever and I seriously question my Wingmen's wisdom if they're so willingly accepted Clara's help. I love her and everything, but she doesn't exactly have a filter. Or maybe I'm just that desperate.

"Haha. Funny running into the three of you here."

"JACK!" We all say in unison.

Since the day I first met him, I have never stopped thinking that Jack looks like a supermodel. He's just… he is dashing, and suave without being a douche. And, the people he ends up with. Both men and women, I can't help but be slightly envious, okay really envious. Everyone loves Jack, hell I even love him. He's just that kind of guy.

"I didn't know you were going to be here, Jack?" Amy say's. Offering up a flirtatious smirk.

"I know the owner, nice lady. A bit brash, but she's one of the best poker player I've ever known." He laughs and takes a sip of what I believe to be scotch, "We should have a party like this sometime at Harkness I think. Make it an evening of coffee, tea and cocktails," he looks at me smirking, "look at you all dressed up and looking absolutely breathtaking."

"Whuh…" I shiver. When Jack Harkness calls you breathtaking it takes your breath away.

"She really is," Amy offers quickly, smirking behind the mouth of her beer.

He nods agreeably, "so who's the lucky guy? Or girl?"

"I uh, I don't… I mean."

The sound of a bell rings as the front door opens. Clara and I look, heads snapping around. Amy, thank god, is smoother.

It's not him.

"What time is it?" Clara asks.

"Umm," Jack checks his incredibly expensive watch, "10:07."

"Oh," she sighs.

"What?"

"I thought… well, wouldn't it be perfect if he came at 10:00?"

I blush. And feel really stupid, god help me, but that would be perfect. If I wrote this as a book, that's how I'd write it happening.

It would read on Page 200:

_Rose runs her hands down her seductively voluptuous body, and stretched. Her firm and supple breasts rise with her arms arm up high._

_'Welp. It's getting late.'_

_'It's only 10:00 pm' Amy shrieked._

_Just then, the front doors swung wide and October air flooded in, crisp_

_and smelling like leaves and pumpkins and that funny nice October smell._

_As the doors swung open, and there he was._

_He pins Rose with an intense darken gaze._

_'You're here,' he growled._

_'You're here, too,' Rose replied coolly, sipping her strawberry margarita with an arched eyebrow._

_The man in the doorway came forward and-_

"Earth to Rose!"

"What?" Bloody hell, I'd be a terrible writer.

"Jack asked you a question," Clara nudges me.

"Pardon?"

"Can you work on Halloween?"

"Oh. Yeah. Of course. I mean, it might cut into my Trick-or-Treating, but… for you, Jack, anything."

"Anything huh?" he grins wiggling his eyebrows, I can feel the blush rising on my face.

"You'll have to wear a costume," Amy said.

"I do?"

"Company policy," Jack said, shrugging and smiling.

"Uh. Yeah… fine. Sure. Of course."

"Okay. Enough shop talk. My date is waiting for me, Good luck, kid." Jack winks at me, leaving us alone as he walks over to a guy in a dark suit who looks at Jack like he's the main course.

I glare at Amy. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing. He's just… he sees everything, you know."

"Amy!" I groan as I feel a mild headache coming on.

We look over to where Rory is talking to an elderly man and a very annoyed looking redheaded woman in a festive teal dress. He waves us over.

"Wilfred," Rory says as we approach, "Donna, you both know my girlfriend, Amy."

The elderly man shakes Amy's hand, and the woman smiles warmly and gives Amy a strong hug.

"And these two work with her, over at Harkness. This is Rose and Clara."

We smile shake hands, say our hellos, nice to meet you, lovely place you've got. Clara asks where they got so many tea lights. It is actually very lovely. They have a nice place, and I'm having a nice time and drinking and conversing with people. We also meet the guest of honour, and I'm surprised that she remembers me. I wonder how close Sara Jane is to David, but I'm too nervous to ask. I have this nasty habit of turning and staring at the door like I'm paranoid every time someone new comes in, and it makes me think they couldn't be too close or he would be here by now.

**Wednesday, 12:00 AM**

Midnight comes and goes.

**Wednesday, 1:00 AM**

One O'clock comes and goes, I start to seriously doubt that David is going to show up at all.

Amy, seems to have accepted this fact as well. The three of us, Amy, Clara and I, now sit all together in the nook, Clara's legs drape over mine as she eats from a plate of cheese and crackers.

Rory, meanwhile, clearly found a new friend to give that beer too.

He is sits on the counter in the middle of the store, holding a glass between his hands and talking, very smirkily with a guy who is casually standing between his legs.

I keep watching them, like a creeper, without meaning to. He kisses Rory, and I look away blushing.

"Doesn't that bother you?" I ask Amy.

"Does what bother me, Rosie?" she asks texting and her face is illuminated by the screen of her phone.

"Rory, and you know."

She looks up and sees them. She watches intently for a moment, then looks back down at her phone, thumbs flying, "Listen, Rose, you're sweet. I love Rory and he loves me, we just like to add some spice to our relationship."

"It's just that, you both just seem… I don't know…"

"Happy?" Clara says, "Compatible?"

"We are, that's why we work so well together," Amy shrugs, "but we like what we have. It works for us it the key to our long lasting happiness. What can I say we love to share."

I look over at Rory and the guy, I can't help it. I keep watching them, which, to be fair, is partly because they are one of very few people left in the shop. And partly that I find two guys making out very hot.

"What I don't love is being the one who has to arrange another means of getting us all home when our ride is clearly too drunk to drive," she says flatly. Her phone buzzes.

"Ahh. Success! A trustworthy D.D. is so hard to find these days, but I've always got one to fall back on."

Amy manages to get Rory's eye for a moment and he smiles at her over the brunette's shoulder. I really don't understand how that doesn't bother her... I couldn't handle it, I'm a one guy sort of girl, and want the same from the guy I'm with.

**Wednesday, 1:37 AM**

We get up to leave.

We all huddle outside for about twenty minutes, Rory and his mystery man are pressed up against the wall, and I try very hard not to watch. Soon a silver minivan pulls up to the curb. The sliding door automatically slides open.

"I was asleep, Amy," a woman's grumbles from the driver's seat.

"But you came anyway. You're so sweet," Amy hops in first. "I owe you one Mels."

"You owe me more than one," she grumbles.

Amy laughs. "You should come out with us next time."

I see a flash of brown out of the corner of my eye and look.

A mass of wild brown hair in the dark, a long brown trench coat blows in the wind, and the light from the shop window casts a shadow on a lean figure. Oh, god it's him, he made it, and we're here together. And I'm slightly drunk, and he looks so good.

"Hey!" I shout a little too loudly, slapping my hand to my mouth. Don't mess this up Rose.

"Hi." His reply is soft, and I see a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

We just stand there, awkwardly, silently, as van idles in front of me and I'm so nervous and excited and happy that he's here.

"I, uh… I just got here." He said nervously rocking back on his heels.

"I see." I'm grinning like an idiot, I'm just so happy to see him.

"Yep," he makes that little pop sound at the end of the, p, and I melt a little inside. "I'm a little more than fashionably late," he steps closer, my heart is racing.

_His hair is magical. Ugh. Shut up, brain!_

"Are you in or out?" I hear from the front seat, gruffly.

"Oh, relax, Mels!" Amy hisses.

"Your friends are waiting," he smiles tilting his head towards the van.

This is one of those big life moments. In a movie, this is where the music would swell and I make the big decision, to stay or go. I see myself slamming the sliding door closed and banging on the side of the van. And staying. And talking. And kissing. And… I also see myself mumbling something about how sexy he is, and laughing awkwardly then climbing into the van and hanging my head in shame while Amy throttles me senseless from the back of the van.

"I."

"I'm sorry, Rosie. I'm drunk! Good night, have fun!" Amy cackles, acting much more, drunk than I know she is, and slides the door shut from the inside. Then we're standing here, glowing in the red tail lights as the van pulls away.

Just him and I… And Rory, as we hear him loudly and groaningly making out with the brunette guy. How did Amy manage to forget him? How did I forget him? I mean I know they have this open relationship thing, but to leave her boyfriend drunk with another guy… I'll never understand them, it's best not to try.

Some wingman he turned out to be.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wednesday, 2:00 AM**

"So. Um." This is slightly of me can't believe this is happening..

"Yeah," David say's clearing his throat.

"So..." Nope, this is really uncomfortable.

"Uhnn…" He's trying really hard not to laugh I can tell, and it's making me want to laugh.

They will never stop. I can hear smacking. Smacking!

"That's distracting, isn't it?" David laughs, deep in his throat, his whole face glows from the light of the street lamp, he picks at a bit of lint from the sleeve of his coat.

Fuck. He's beautiful when he smiles.

"Yeah…" I'm going to kill Amy for leaving Rory here with me.

David shifts his weight, his face down. His hair, which by the way looks really, really amazing, falls forward. Standing next to him, without a counter and a register between us, I am painfully aware of just how much taller he is compared to me. A foot? Maybe just under a foot.

I thought I was a little drunk. I'm not. I was a little punchy, sure, but now I'm so sober. I'm the most sober woman on the face of the planet. The sound of a male body colliding with the wall is accompanied by a gasp and the jingle of the bell above the door to the shop, causes our heads to snap in Rory and his companions direction.

The woman who owns the place, Donna, pokes her head out. Rory and the guy stop, briefly, and look at her.

"Oi, you're lucky it's so late and I'm drunk or I would kick your arses for doing that in front of my shop," she says, drawling, and sighs leaning her head against the wall. "So, how are you?"

"Your Granddad makes a strong drink," Rory points at her accusingly.

"He does. Yeah. You had a few I take it?"

"I did." Rory smirks.

"And you, Alonzo?"

The brunette guy shrugs, "A few."

"Isn't that just wizard," Donna replies, drumming her fingers against the frame of the door, "do you-"

"Ahh!" I hear Rory gasp as the guy's face closes in on his throat? His ear? I can't tell. I don't want to tell. And I kind of do. A little bit. Okay, maybe a lot.

Donna looks at David and I to which, the very fact that my brain can formulate the concept of David and I being a 'thing' in any way shape or form is, like, thrilling… god, I'm embarrassing.

"Think you can make sure these two get where they're going safely? Oh, hey, David."

"Hey, Donna, long time."

"It has, hasn't it? You haven't changed one bit. Still scrawny as ever I see, do you even eat?"

David chuckles, "Aw, come on Donna, you know you love your men lean and fit."

"Fit maybe, you need a lot more meat on your bones to turn my head Spaceman," she snorts.

"Spaceman?" I look at David confused. Between Rory and the other guy practically having sexy in front of a bookshop, and Donna calling David spaceman, this night just keeps getting stranger.

"Yeah, about that," he says rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I was subbing Astronomy professor at the college, one of my students was best friends with Donna. She, uh..."

"She set us up on a blind date is what she did," Donna scoffs

"Oh…" I fidget. I always do when I'm nervous, were they really a couple once? "So you two dated?"

David's eyes go wide and Donna laughs. "W-What? No, no we never. We are friends but nothing more." He stammers even in the dim lights of the street I can see his face go flush.

"Don't worry Rose," Donna sways slightly. "He's all yours, let's just say the date was cut short, but we stayed close friends."

"Oh," I squeak, I'm not sure what shocked me more, that she referred to David being all mine or that they had gone on a date to begin with.

"Not THAT, kind of friend." She says as an afterthought. We all stand there trying very hard not to watch Rory and the other guy, but it's pretty much impossible. Once Rory's hands began to slip up the other man's shirt David clears his throat.

"I'll make sure they make it home." I say tearing my eyes away from them.

"Thanks," Donna smiles. The elderly man from earlier pops his head out the door of the shop.

"There you are Donna, your mother is all in a titter looking about for you. She wants us to help with the clean-up. Oh, hello boys. Rose, you look lovely tonight, it was nice to meet you." He smiles and hardly notices Rory, and Alonzo as if it were an everyday sight.

"Thank you sir. It was nice meeting you as well." I said nervously.

"Okay Gramps, tell the beast I'll be right there," Donna says rolling her eyes. Wilfred chuckles waving he disappears back into the shop.

"Hey, Rory."

I see Rory look up at David with a dazed expression.

"DAVE!" he pushes against Alonso's chest and walks towards us, snatching the man's hand with one of his own and digging through his pants pockets with the other, he is wearing very tight slacks with a very noticeable bulge, and I do my best not to stare. "Dave, you've met my friend, Rose Tyler?"

"Hi," I say, waving with the stupidest little wave.

"Hi." He breaks out in another dazzling smile.

Very warm keys are dangled in front of my face, and I stare at them before hesitantly taking them, trying not to think of where they were a few seconds before.

"You were tardy to the party," Rory says, frowning at David. The man has very expressive eyebrows.

"Apparently."

"Night owl!" he laughs, too hard, "Did you walk? You walk everywhere." Rory questions him swaying back and forth, his eyes squinting.

"Yep. I walked."

"Okay, cool, Rose can drive you home."

"Whuh," I raise my hands, "I mean, yeah… I can… if you…"

"Do you want help?" David smirks.

"Fuh… yeah! Yeah," I wrinkle my nose and hope to god it looks cute, "They seem horrible."

I think I see Rory nod. I think he nods and looks incredibly sober for the quickest split second.

And then his tongue is back in Alonzo's mouth.

_Fuck a duck. I was wrong. He's is the greatest wingman of them all!_

"Where's your car?" David asks.

Rory points vaguely in the direction of the car and heads off, his arm around Alonzo's shoulders. Alonzo's arm is around his waist.

"To the Batcave!" Rory shouts.

"Drive safe," Donna waves before ducking back into the shop, the sound of the lock clicking behind her.

We start to walk slowly. "Thanks," I say to David as we follow them. I squeeze Rory's keys until the teeth dig into my palm. Okay. This is fine. Fine. Look at how well I'm doing. Don't ruin this, brain. We're doing it- I trip over a branch on the sidewalk. I make a stupid Whoop! Sound, but thank god, I catch myself.

"You alright?" he asks, grabbing my arm to help steady me.

"Yeah! Great!" I gasp, he's touching me oh my god. His hands are so warm, and I realize now how cold it's gotten, and I didn't bring a coat.

"You're good to drive?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah… just… clumsy. Not drunk! It takes a lot of alcohol to get me drunk." It's true, from all those all the late night parties I went too when I was a teen, I have always had a high tolerance to alcohol.

"Oh."

"Not that I'm a drunk… not... I mean… I use to drink a lot more when I was younger, not anymore though. I hardly ever drink now."

I hate myself.

"Ah, I see."

I hate you so much brain.

"You don't seem like much of a party animal."

Oh, sweet Jesus. This is why I can't have nice things! Don't mess this up!

"It probably doesn't take very much to get you drunk." Oh great, I didn't just say that did I, oh yes I did.

He laughs, it's a full body happy sound. I can't believe I pretty much called him a lightweight.

"Sorry."

"No, no don't be. You're just stating the truth." He's smiling, and I realize that his hand is still gently holding my arm. I never want him to move it, well maybe to hold my hand. Should I do it? No, no to fast I don't want to freak him out.

By the time we reach the car, Rory and Alonso are pressed hard against the hood. There is grinding involved now.

"Alright, that's enough," I say and unlock the doors.

They part long enough to get into the backseat and quickly resume. Rory is very vocal, and I wonder if David is loud when he… Oh lord, I find that thought very arousing, I love it when men are loud during...

I adjust the seat, sliding it forward to accommodate my legs which are significantly shorter than Rory's

"Hey!" from the backseat. Alonzo, behind David as he has to adjust his seat back, and has lost precious legroom.

"Sorry." David said still smirking.

"Just… put them over here," Rory's voice is low. He pulls Alonzo's legs over to his side. I see him in the rear-view mirror.

David is in next to me, and buckled in. The street lamp reflects in his glasses, I love those glasses they look sexy on him. He smells so good. Really, really good. A little bit of his own musk and some cologne I've never smelt before, it's a very intoxicating scent.

Rory's legs bumps into the back of my seat. "Okay, guys. Look. I don't care what you do, just… let's not get… I mean… just wait until we drop you off, yeah? Please."

"Mmhmm." A muffled sound that is Rory.

"Fine." Alonzo sounds annoyed.

I start the car and pull out.

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"Uh. Where do you live?" I know that Rory spends most his time at Amy's, but I've never been to his flat before.

After a quick banter about directions and how to get there the fastest. I drive to the brusquely given address. David has his hand around the door handle, as if ready to make a quick rolling escape.

"So," I can do this, giving David a brief side long glance, "you worked at the college?"

"Yep, for about a year. A year or so ago."

"Did you like it?"

He makes a meh sound, "It was all right, I love teaching but it was mostly subbing. So I was doing a lot of different classes."

He's a professor, which means he's smart, really smart. I am so in over my head with this guy. Small talk, Rose you can do small talk.

"What do you do now?"

"Private tutor mostly, I'm semi-retired."

"Oh. Yeah? Semi-retired, you're not that old." I didn't just say that, oh but I did. I can't believe I just called him old. What is wrong with me.

He chuckles. "You're right I'm not old, I just spent a lot of time traveling with my past job. Things… happened." He frowns and I feel like the biggest jerk ever. We are quiet for a minute. Only to have the sounds from the back seat prompt us both to find a reason to keep talking. "I don't like working for anyone else, you know? I like the freedom of being my own boss."

"Yeah. I can understand that."

"What about you?" His tone is light but he just looks straight ahead. I really hope I didn't just mess this up.

Oh, my god. He doesn't recognize me. All this and he doesn't even know-

"Oh. Wait. That's stupid. I know what you do. Really good tea by the way." He looks over at me now smiling, my heart melts a little more.

"Thanks." Okay. Crisis averted.

There is a particularly carnal moan from the backseat.

"Hey! You two Stop," I sound like my Mum when I would have friends over, "Hey! I want to see hands! Show me your hands!"

Three palms are raised, with matching faces of pure innocence behind them.

"Where's the other one?" eyes darting from the road to the rear-view mirror. The other one slides up slowly.

"Come on, guys, we're almost there. Let's not make this anymore awkward than it already is, yeah?"

"Sorry, Rose." Rory mumbles.

"Yeah, sorry…"

They are quiet then, kissing almost sweetly. Almost.

"Rough day?" David asks.

"Long day, very long day."

"Hmmm."

The sound of that. That Hmmm. Like he's really mulling it over. Really.

"Rory?" I'm going to go for it, both feet in. I feel brave again like I can do anything.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to take your car, okay? I'll come by in the morning and you can drop me off at my place."

"Mmm. Fine."

I pull in front of his place. David gets out and the two of them slither out on his side. I tighten my hands on the steering wheel. Okay. Okay! Gonna be alone in the car—together.

"Hey."

I jump. Rory is at my window, leaning in close.

"What?" I hiss.

"Can I have my house key?" he smiles, charmingly and startlingly sober again. How does he do that?

"Yeah… of course," I fish the car key off the ring while it's still in the dash.

He leans in, "What rule are you on?"

"What?"

"What rule. Are you. On?" Rory gives me a look like I'm daft.

"Uhh… I only know rule number one."

"Which was?"

"Stay on your feet."

"Great. Rule Number Two," he says this as David is siding the seat forward again and getting back in, "Sleep. When. You're. Dead."

"What does that mean-" I hiss this is aggravating, I'm going to need to write all these down.

He is suddenly sloppily drunk again, leaning in to kiss me roughly on the cheek, "You're awesome, Rose Tyler!"

"Get going," I scowl wiping my cheek with the back of my hand.

"Of course, can't leave him waiting. Oh, and just give my keys to Amy, tell her to pop by in the morning. I almost have him worn down for a threesome." He winks.

"Ewww, I didn't need to know that! Good night Rory."

"Night," he bows slightly. "Good to see you again Dave."

"You too Rory."

We watch him go to up the stone path to the house and wait until both he and Alonso are inside.

"Where do you live?" I ask nervously, we're alone now just the two of us.

"Back on the other side of town. Not all that far from Nobles, actually." Oh, so he came for the ride all the way to the other end of the city. That's… what does that mean? I pull away from Rory's flat, carefully turning around heading back the way we came. We're quite again, but this time it's a nervous silence. Come on say something, you can do it.

"I love your coat, looks good on you." He looks at me smiling, but I can't tell if it's a good smile, or a I just want to be friends smile.

"Thanks, it was a gift. You look beautiful by the way. Red it really your colour."

"Thanks." I squeak, I can feel the blood rush to my face, I wouldn't be surprised if it's the same colour as my dress. I can't believe it, he called me beautiful. David Smith, sweet, sexy, smart, professor David Smith call me Rose, plain Jane Tyler beautiful. I want to bask in this moment forever.

"Do you like your job?" He asks quickly changing the subject.

"Yeah, I love working with people. I was going to go to school to be a social worker, or something along those lines. It just didn't happen."

"Why not?"

I am so not ready for that question, if I were to tell him how I dropped out of school to live with my psycho abusive ex-boyfriend he'll never want to see me again. In fact I'm sure he'll run for the hills screaming.

I shrug, think Rose, think. "Just a lot of …stuff happened."

"Ah," he nods. "I understand stuff."

I smile, he mirrors it with one of his own. "My Dad was a people person too, he use to sell these health drinks. He was pretty good at it."

"Noticed you used the past tense."

And… we've arrived at dead dad. Great. Perfect. Just where I wanted to get. Let's just barrel through broken heart, and drive headlong into sexual insecurities while we're at it. Throw in embarrassing phobias. Just for kicks.

I nod but don't say anything, even after all these years my dad is a hard subject for me to take on.

I think he senses that. He is politely quiet, but I see him let go of the door handle. That makes me slightly relieved, now I don't feel as if he can't wait to run away from me.

Clearing his throat he looks over at me, the street lights cast a shadow on his face. "So, are you?" he trails off sounding really unsure.

"Am I what?"

"You know," he motions at me with his one hand as if I can read his mind.

"No, I really don't sorry"

"Uh, boyfriend. Do you. Uh..."

"Oh! No, nope. I don't. Do you?" his question made my heart both sore and leap into my throat.

David chuckles. "Nope, no boyfriend, or girlfriend."

"Good, that's… not that being single is good, but you know." You're losing it Tyler don't let him think you're a loon.

"Yeah, I know." He's still smiling looking out the window as the buildings pass by in a 're quite then as we drive. It's a comfortable silence now, I like it. I like him a lot.

**Wednesday, 3:20 AM**

He lives in a huge building, it looks very posh. I stop in front and gape at it for a moment. He's rich, of course he is why wouldn't he be. I feel my heart sink, this man is completely out of my reach. Why would anyone like him be interested in a bland normal girl like me?

"Wow, nice place."

"Eh, it's just a place." He says as if he lived in a flat in the bad part of town.

"Sorry you missed the party."

"I should have left earlier. It's a problem. I'm not very punctual."

I half-heartedly chuckle, Mr. 10:00 AM sharp. "I, uh, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." No. No! Shut up, mouth! We were doing so well!

"You work on Wednesday's?"

Neither of us move. Staring through the windshield. He knows when I work.

"Uh. No. I don't. I… misspoke. Like when you buy tickets at a movie theater and the person selling you your ticket says, 'Enjoy the movie,' and you say, 'you too,' even though it doesn't make any sense because she's not seeing a movie she's selling tickets in a box office, but you just say it because… that's just what you say. And you thought she was going to say, 'Have a nice day,' instead." I'm rambling, no, no, no rambling is bad. When I start I can't stop.

_**Crap!**_

"Ah, I see."

Yep, I messed up. I just know it, he's never going to want to see me ever again. My phone vibrates in my pocket.

"Well, good night." He say's not looking at me.

"Yeah, good night."

He gets out. Closes the door. Goes inside and doesn't look back.

I scream, frustrated banging my head on the steering wheel. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." I pull my phone out of my pocket with shaking hands.

**From: Amy Pond**

**Body:**

**rule number 3.** **When sitting in a dark car alone, make a move.**

As if on cue, but a cue that was missed because the prop-guy was busy fondling a stage-hand, Rory's glove compartment falls open. Condoms and his registration paperwork fall out onto the floor board.

"Well," I say to myself, "That could have gone better."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello, I am sorry for the lateness of this chapter. I've had a busy few weeks, and I haven't had much time to write as I would like. Also this chapter is slightly shorter, but I should be able to update regularly again soon. **

**This chapter is not betaed, so any and all errors are my fault, I apologize. Thank you so much for the reviewers, and the many followers and favorites. It makes me happy to see, and normally I respond to all reviews, but I haven't had the chance yet I'm sorry. I'll do my best to get to them as soon as time lets me. Enjoy. **

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**Wednesday, 4:15 am**

By the time I got home I was completely knackered and went straight to bed to try to get at least some semblance of sleep. Yeah right. Mickey pressed heavily across my legs, it's hard to sleep like that on a normal night. Especially given that Mickey farts in his sleep almost constantly. I really need to look into changing his food, maybe I should stop feeding him scones from Harkness, but that's not the reason I can't sleep tonight. Tonight my brain is whirling again, and I feel wired and exhausted and…

_Did all of that just happen?_

Wingmen! I'm sold on the idea. I don't even know Rory all that well, and I think he's my new best friend. We should make matching bracelets for each other with BFF spelled out in letter beads.

I'll make his from leather so it's not to girly, and he'll be more inclined to wear it. I did that at camp once. Those were simpler times, when your best friend was your best friend because you both liked the same cartoons. Not like now, when your new best friend made out with and possibly jerked off another man in the backseat of his own car. Thus providing you with the opportunity to actually talk, in words and sentences, to the smart, sexy, rich professor you've been obsessed with for months.

It's settled. I'm making Rory a bracelet.

At some point, despite Mickey's best efforts to gas me to death, I fall asleep.

**Wednesday, 7:00 AM**

My phone wakes me up. Great.

"Hello, sweetheart."

"Hey, Mum," I mumble my eyes still closed.

"Is this a good time to talk?"

_I'm only about 10% awake._

"Mmhmm… yeah."

"You're not… I'm not interrupting anything?"

Oh no, here she goes again.

"Interrupting-"

"There's not anyone… with you?"

_And there it is, my mother, always the optimist._

"No. No one. Well, Mickey."

"Ooh! Who is- Oh… your dog. Yes. Right."

I look at the clock. 7:02 am.

"What do you need, Mum?"

"I just wanted to check in, see how your date was last night. Did you have fun?"

"Yeah. I did," I grumble, "And it wasn't a date, it was just a party with some friends."

"Oh, I thought you were going with someone."

_She is not going to let this go._

"I did go out with someone, my friends from work."

"Oh, so there was no one special. Maybe someone you met, and invited over for a nightcap?"

"Mother!"

"Oh alright, you know you can talk to me about anything, Rose."

"I know, Mum. There's just nothing to tell."

"Oh well, when will you be over today? I got a call from your brother last night."

"I'll be over in a bit, I got home late. So Tony called? What did he want?" My younger brother Tony has always been a bit of a trouble maker. Never anything major, but enough that it took a toll on our Mother after Dad died. Dad's death hit us all really hard, over time Tony cleaned up his act, and became first Tyler to go to college. Now our Mother takes every chance she can to boast about Tony, and all he's accomplished. Truth be told though, he's a bit of a prat. Don't get me wrong, I love my brother, but he can be a bit much at times.

"Nothing really, he just called to tell me about school. I've talked him into coming home for Christmas this year." She sounds so happy, this is really good. Tony hardly ever comes home, so to have him home for Christmas holidays can be both a blessing and a curse.

"That's great Mum, I can't wait to see him." It's true, it's been a few years since Tony has been home. He calls me from time to time, but it's just not the same.

"It's going to be so wonderful to have you both home for the holidays. You know, you could always bring a friend with you. I always cook enough to feed a small army."

"Mum…" I know she means well, it's just so frustrating sometimes. Maybe David would be willing to… No. I hardly even know him, and I'm sure he already has plans for the holidays. For all I know he doesn't even celebrate Christmas.

"Alright, alright. I just want you to know you can bring someone. I just want you happy dear, you always seem so sad since Jimmy..."

"Mom, please don't."

"Okay, I'll let you go so you can wake up. I'll see you later."

"Love you Mom."

"Love you to Rose."

I flop back onto the bed with a groan, as much as I want to go back to sleep I really should start my day. Mickey has now worked his way up the bed his head resting on my other pillow. When Mickey was about six months old, I had to get a bigger bed. I know that is no reason to spend that kind of money, and really I should make him sleep on the floor or in the other room, but he's been my best friend and companion for five years now. I think me having to buy a larger bed is a small price to pay for not being kicked out of my bed by an 85lb Labrador.

After having a nice long hot shower, I put on a pair of sweats, and one of my favorite old black t-shirts. Throwing my hair up in a loose ponytail I grab Mickey's leash, and Rory's keys. I forgot to let Amy know that he wanted her to go to his flat this morning. Ugh, I am not looking forward to this conversation. Latching Mickeys leash to his collar I step outside in the brisk October morning. I lock my front door, and jump off the porch walking around the building with Mickey in tow. The stair leading to Amy's flat are more like a fire escape, steep metal steps led up to her front door, Mickey won't walk up them so I tie him to the rail, and slowly make my way upstairs.

After about five minutes of knocking, Amy finally answers the door. Her red hair a sticks up in all sorts of directions, she's wearing a very tight white see through shirt that says,**_ 'Gingers do it with style.'_ **Written in black letters across her very large breasts, and a pair of very short blue running shorts, that show off her endless length of her legs. As always, even all rumpled and half asleep Amy looks hot, and I don't say that about many women. I can't help be slightly envious of her. For me to even look half as good as her, I would have to spend hours doing my hair and makeup.

Amy squints at the bright light her eyes look bloodshot, I wonder if she got as much sleep as I did?

"What?" She grumbles holding the door open wide, a strong smell of apple cinnamon incense wafts out. I've always love the smell of her place.

"Sorry Amy, uh, Rory asked me to give you his keys, so you can bring his car back. Something about, uh… you know." I say holding out the keys for her to take.

Amy arches an eyebrow at me, a small smile tugs the corner of her mouth. Her mood seemed to switch in an instant. "No I don't know, Rosie. You need to tell me what he said… all of it."

I know she knows, she just wants me to say it because I'm uncomfortable, and she loves to see me squirm. "Amy…" I groan, pushing the keys into her hands, but instead of taking them she just stands there grinning at me.

"Don't you Amy me. There's no need to be such a prude, Rose. I mean really."

"I'm not a… prude!" I realize that I said that a little too forcefully. Maybe I am a prude, but I'm not about to give, Amy the satisfaction of being right on this one.

"Mmhm, then say it."

"Rory wants you to bring the car back."

"And, what else."

She's so stringing me along, I just know it.

"You've talked to him already haven't you?"

Amy laughs taking the keys and tosses them on the counter next to the door. "Okay, you win. I don't know what the big deal is. You need to loosen up some."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"So how did it go with David, hmmm? I expected to hear some wild, and wicked sex coming from your place last night."

I can feel the heat rising to my face, Amy always knows what buttons to push with me. "I… he… we…it was fine, it went fine."

"Only fine? Did you at least get to kiss him?"

"N-no."

"No. Why the hell not? He is into you, you're into him. One plus one is kissy, kissy time."

"We just talked, I drove him home and that was it. I really don't think he's into me as much as you think."

Amy rolls her eyes. "Are you insane, I know it's been awhile for you, Rose but still. I know you're not blind. He is completely into you."

"I don't know Amy, things are complicated"

"They are only complicated because you let it be, you need to loosen up ask for his number. Girls do that now you know."

"I know… What if he turns me down?"

"He won't. If he does he's crazy for passing up a hot catch like you."

I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes, this is one of the reasons I love Amy so much. She always knows what to say. "Thanks, I mean it."

"Don't get all sappy on me go for your run, or whatever it is you do at the asscrack of dawn." Amy smirks giving me a quick hug. "You should stop by Rory's later, we can hang out."

Amy's idea of morning is anything after noon, that's why Jack normally doesn't shift her until at least 10:00 AM. Not that she's late or anything, she tends to be very moody any time before then. "I would love to, but I promised my Mum I would help her go through some stuff."

"Okay. Later than." Smiling, she turns and walks back into the house closing the door behind her. I know I shouldn't feel guilty for not being able to go to visit Rory, he is my new best friend and all. I just can't put off the day with my Mother any longer.

Quickly heading down the steps I untie Mickey and head out for our morning run. I never use to like running, but after a few very stress filled years I found it really relaxing. Mickey loves it, I try to get a run in every morning. After our jog I fill up the dog dishes, change my clothes and jump into my car to head over to Mum's. My small mini that I saved up every dime that I could to get this car, and everyone teased me, but I love it. It gets me to where I need to go, and for me that's all that matters.

When I reach my Mum`s flat I don't even get a chance to knock, when she bursts through the door, and all but knocks me over with a huge hug. It always feels like coming home. We sit for a few hours drinking tea and catching up, she tells me about the latest gossip with friends and family, and I tell her about work and my friends. I didn't tell her about David, it's just too soon and I don't even know if there's anything to tell yet. Sorting through my stuff didn't take as long as I thought it would, I had already taken most my things with me when I moved out.

**Wednesday, 11:00 AM**

"I really appreciate you stopping by to do this, sweetheart."

"It's no problem Mum, I have wanted to come do this for awhile." I said thumbing through one of my many old diaries.

"It wasn't an inconvenience? You didn't have any… plans?"

"Plans?"

"A date maybe?"

_Oh, for the love of god. She just won't let it go._

"It's only… it's been a long time since Jimmy-"

"Mother, I do not want to talk about Jimmy."

"All right, all right…"

I drop the last of the last books into the box. The last person in the world I want to think about is that holier than thou cheating, abusive bastard.

I sigh heavily and look at her, "No. No dates. Especially not at 3:00 in the afternoon."

My mother purses her lips and raises her eyebrows, "You're not getting any younger, Rose."

"Wh-"

"And neither am I!" she smiles, softening the blow.

"I'm twenty five, Mum. I'm not a…" grabbing the nearest overflowing box I stand up to head out of my old bedroom annoyed. I briefly envision myself with a white cane, and turn to face her, "I'm not an old crone."

"I didn't mean it like that, Rose. I just want to see you happy, and grand-babies wouldn't hurt either. Your brother isn't likely ever going to have any kids and…" she steps closer taking the box placing it on the floor, "I'm sorry Rose, I shouldn't pressure you so much."

I look at her, "its fine, I know you mean well. It's just a lot harder than I thought it would be."

"I understand sweetheart, when I met your Father it was much easier than it is now," she puts a hand on my arm, "You're so much like him you know. Now, before you go, would you mind taking a few of your brother's old things to your place? It's the last thing, I promise."

"Tony`s stuff? Why, what's wrong with where they are now?"

My Mother turns away from me as she starts to putter around the room straightening pillows, and smoothing blankets. "It's just a few extra boxes, he already had them packed up, and I just need them out of that room is all."

"Mom, what are you not telling me?"

"It's nothing, I just have these two empty rooms. I thought it would be nice to make a little extra money, and rent out your brother's old room is all."

"Extra money? Mum, is everything alright, do you need money? I can lend you some if you need it.""No, no it's not like that, it would be nice to have someone around to help out around the place some, and a little extra money doesn't hurt either."

My Mum is lonely, the guilt is back and I really should visit more often. It might be good for her to have someone around to help fix things, not that my brother and I have moved out.

"I know Mum, I just want to be sure you're doing okay. I promise I'll visit more."

"Now Rose, don't you worry about me. I am more than able to take care of myself, you don't need to be running around taking care of me."

**Wednesday****, 3:30 PM**

There's no arguing with her, I've learned that a very long time ago. Together we take the boxes to my car. My three and my brothers two large sealed boxes with the words. **'DO NOT OPEN, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.'** I'm not sure I want to know what is in them, you never know with Tony. They all hardly fit inside my tiny Mini, but with some twists and turns we finally got them all to fit. Giving my Mum a hug and kiss we say our farewells, and off I go heading back to Cardiff. My thoughts drifting back to David, I can't wait to see him again. Amy's right, I should give him my number, maybe ask him to a movie or dinner. That's easy to say now, but when I'm staring at though beautiful chocolate brown eyes I don't know if I can do it.

Maybe I will go to Rory's after all. It's not too late yet. I hope his visitor has gone home.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Wow, two chapters in a few days. I'm on a writing roll it seems, I want to thank all my new followers and those have reviewed. It makes me feel good to hear everyone's thoughts on this.**

**As always, this chapter is not Betaed so any and all errors are my doing. Enjoy.**

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**Wednesday, 4:20 PM**

The drive back to Cardiff feels longer than normal the music from the radio is low and pulsing, much lower than I normally have it when I drive alone. I'm too tired to really care. My mind wanders back to last night. I should have kissed him, or at least give him my number. What if I scared him off? What if he never comes into work again, maybe it's a good thing. He could do better than a neurotic high school dropout.

My cell phone rings, pulling me from my thoughts. My brother's number flashes across the screen.

Normally I wouldn't answer while I'm driving but Tony hardly ever calls me, and even less likely during the day. I hit the speakerphone button on my phone.

"Tony, hey, what's up?"

"Hey Sis, just calling to see how you're doing?"

_This sounds ominous._

"I'm good, just been busy with work. How are you? Is everything okay?"

"It's good," I can hear music in the background. He's three hours ahead of me, on the other side of the country. I miss him even as much of an arse my brother can be we were always close. I was always the over protective big sister, and he was the smart-alecky brat baby brother.

Being five years older than him had always meant that there were a lot of ways in which I felt distant from him, but many more ways I felt protective. "I, uh, I wanted to ask you about something."

_Of course, I should have known._

"Oh-kay…"

"Okay, so… last night I slept with this girl from my physics class-"

"Ack, Tony. Eww, I don't want to know that."

"What?"

"You… Having sex, you're my baby brother."

_I'm going to need to bleach my brain at the thought of it._

"Uh, it's not a big deal. Really."

"Sex is always a big deal!" Okay, maybe it isn't. But… it's my big conscientious older sister responsibility to say that it is, right?

"It really isn't. But. Okay…"

He has his annoyed tone, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Is something wrong? Were you safe? You didn't get her pregnant did you?"

"Rose," he's laughing, "calm down! It's fine. We used a condom. And it was our first time, so I wouldn't even know if she is pregnant for like, a month or two. Besides we were safe about it, stop overreacting."

I spend the next thirty minutes listening to my baby brother tell me, in blessedly colorless terms, about his night with this girl. She had, apparently, told him repeatedly that she loved him and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of that.

I like it, this is how close we were growing up. We shared things, we talked. He always came to me with his problems, it's been so long I forgot how much I really miss him.

I should be better at this. I should be calm and an authority on the subject. I should have all the answers… but I don't. And, insult to injury, my baby brother seems better equipped and better adjusted than me. Either way, I tell him that she was probably just swept up in the moment. It happens to everybody. Especially artsy types. We love getting swept up in moments.

"What about you?" he asks, "Is there anybody?"

"Maybe."

It's the first time I've admitted it out loud.

I smile, embarrassed but happy as he_ 'woops'_ on the other end of the line. Tony never knew the details of what happened with Jimmy, but he knew it was bad. He always tried to give me gentle nudges to start dating again.

"Tell me about him. What's going on? He's not an asshole is he? I'll kick his ass if he hurts you."

I tell him about David, and about the party and the drive. And my Wingmen.

"He sounds perfect for you," he says, "please don't screw it up Rosie."

"I'm trying!"

"It's good that you have help. You need the help, I would have helped you if I were there."

"You're too kind."

"You've been single forever, and also it will get Mum off my back about grandkids."

"You too huh?"

Our mother, always trying to rush us into everything. Battered ego aside, this just makes it worse, right? Having someone know about it and thinking, maybe more surely than I think it, that it could work. It just means there's that much more pressure on me to not ruin everything. I hate that. Because I'm really, phenomenally good at ruining things.

"Oh, Mum had me take some of your stuff to my place."

"W-what! What stuff? Why, I mean what's wrong with my room?"

"I don't know, she said something about a border. I think she's just lonely. It's just two boxes Tony, and they'll be safe."

"She's renting out my room?! I'm going to call her, don't open those boxes okay. Please Rosie, just… don't."

"Alright, alright don't worry you're boxes are safe with me."

"Okay, I'll call you after."

"Okay, love you bro."

"Yep."

And he hangs up without another word, my curiosity is peaked. But I promised not to open them, and I will likely regret it if I do.

**Wednesday, 6:30 PM**

Rory texts me that it's fine to come by whenever.

I knock on his door, cautiously.

The door opens, "Hey. Let me find a shirt. Come on in," he waves me inside. He is shirtless and scratched and wearing some kind of silver token on a chain around his neck.

He is not opposed to jewelry, then. He will love my friendship bracelet.

His place is a small but well laid out studio flat on the ground floor, books stacked high against the exposed brick walls, lots of windows, lots of light, not much furniture besides an imposing writing desk and a very disordered bed in which a male body still seems to be tangled in sheets.

He pulls a t-shirt from the dresser next to the fridge.

"One second," he trots back over to the edge on the bed and crawls halfway on top of the still sleeping figure, talking quietly and rubbing his back.

_This is awkward._

_What do I do with my hands?_

_Normally, I mean. They just kind of hang there, right?_

_That's weird. Hands are weird._

I scan the stacks of books, my focus intent on the battered spines.

There's a book on the top of the one of the stacks, face down. Amy's picture is on the back of it.

Huh.

I go to pick it up but don't have time. He's up.

"Okay, let's go."

"Is…" I look at the bed, "your friend joining us?"

"Alonzo? Nahh… he's tired," he rubs his scratched side, "Can't blame him."

"Please. Don't tell me. Okay?"

He smiles, "Whatever you say."

"I have delicate sensibilities," I say as we head towards his car.

"Were your delicate sensibilities in anyway impugned upon last night?" he goes to the driver's side and unlocks the door.

"Maybe a little by what was happening in the backseat…" I say, waiting for him to unlock my side, "But not… no, I mean…"

Not by David.

He pulls his hair back into a wonky little half ponytail, "Do you want dinner?"

"I think it's too early to call it dinner now."

"Semantics. Here, call Amy and tell her to meet us at Wade's Café. They have the best chips in town," he hands me his phone.

"I thought she was going to come over to…visit?" I am not going to say threesome, there's just no way. I don't even want to think about.

"She did, but Jack called her in to cover a shift. She should be off by now." He hands me his cell, and starts the car.

"You have a text from her," I say, opening it, "Oh. Lovely. It's a dirty text." I refuse to say sext.

He laughs, "Read it to me."

"No!"

Before pulling away from the curb, he looks at the screen, and laughs, "Oh, that woman."

"What's the deal with you two?"

"What deal?"

"You and Amy," I just can't wrap my brain around it. I would be so hurt if I walked out of a place and left someone who touched my chin the way he did behind with his face full of someone else.

He looks at me sideways, "What's your story?"

"My story?"

"Yeah. Romantic history. Amy told me there was a guy…"

"There was a guy."

"Just one guy? Ever?"

He doesn't sound judgy. And after all, he's my new best friend, right? I can talk to him about this stuff because he's my new best friend, and…does he have a hickey?!

"Just one guy ever."

"And what happened?"

"He, uh… he turned to be schizophrenic, and refused to take medication. Things fell apart pretty quickly." Rory is the first person I've admitted this too. I mean he is my new BBF and your suppose to share things like this with your friends. Right?

"Shit!"

"Yeah. Shit."

"Tough thing about mental Illness it can be a tough battle."

"Yeah."

"Well that answers a few questions I had," he shrugs, "And as for Amy and I, I'm completely, utterly, madly, stupidly in love with her," he says this with the flat conversational calm of someone giving directions, "but it's not really enough for either of us, so, we do this. And it works. And we're happy."

There's no resentment, no hurt or angst in anything he says.

"And the sex is incredible. The sex alone is worth sticking around for. The love part, that's just extra."

They do seem happy. I'll give them that. Alonzo, what small bit of him I could see in the tangle of duvet, seemed happy too.

Maybe they were onto something.

Maybe they've evolved.

Maybe I should evolve.

No…. I cannot be that evolved. I'm too stodgy. Er… traditional?

Boring, Rose, the word you are ineptly searching for is boring.

I call her then, and then call Clara with my own phone, and we convene at Wade's. By that time, it's late enough that we can only order Dinner.

"If the three of you are here," Rory says, sipping his second cup of coffee, "Who's working at Harkness?"

"Ugh. Ianto and Owen," Amy answers, stealing one of his chips.

"Who are Ianto and Owen?"

"These two friends of Jacks. Have you ever talked to them?" she asks me and Clara.

"No. Never. I don't think I've ever even seen them."

"I've seen them," Clara says, "I trained them. Poor Ianto is nice, but he's got such bad nerves…really good at making coffee though."

"Owen is miserable, so far as I can tell, and Jack only ever has them on shifts together. Which is fine by me. Because that means the three of us-"

"Four," Rory says.

She puts her hand over his arm, "The four of us can get together and talk about how Rose is going to ride that adorable little hipster into the mattress."

"Whoa, whoa whoa!" I put my hands up, ketchup between my first two fingers, "how did we jump all the way to riding?"

"We've laid the groundwork," she said, stealing another chip, "and now we have to build on it."

"Build on it."

"While the building is good, too," she says, "You can't wait too long."

"Well, I'll see him Friday," I say, "he doesn't come in on Thursday's."

They strategize then, for a good hour, mostly without my input.

This feels nice though. Having groundwork. And I didn't totally screw it up. By my standards, last night was a victory. Though, I mean… I think he was being nice… because some of the things I said were pretty damn awful.

But maybe that's a good sign.

I'm definitely going to take it as a good sign.

"Dammit, Amy, if you wanted chips you should have ordered your own!"

He looks annoyed, but she's dragging her nails up and down on the skin of his forearm and it's hard to be annoyed when someone is doing that.

"You can have some of mine, Rory," Clara scoops a few into her hand and drops them on his plate.

"Thanks, Clara."

Oh, Wingmen. What did I ever do without you?

**Thursday, 9:55 AM**

Thursday mornings are always pretty busy.

Harkness is a nice place to sit and read or talk over coffee for a few hours. It's actually busier on the weekends, but it's a pleasant Thursday-Morning kind of busy.

I'm very relaxed on Thursdays. In no small part because it's the one day that I work that I know, with certainty that he won't come in.

I have zero chance of making an ass out of myself on Thursdays. At least with him. I could still make an ass out of myself with a lot of other customers. But it won't keep me up at night the same way.

So, see, that's why my brain is slow on the uptake.

I see the hair first.

I see it, brown and soft in the mid morning sunlight outside the glass doors. I see it. But it doesn't register.

Maybe, and I'm only guessing, but maybe his existence on a Thursday morning doesn't fully compute because he isn't wearing his glasses.

I've never seen him without his glasses.

I don't recognize him.

He could be anyone, really.

Any young, attractive guy with amazing brown hair.

And deep brown eyes.

My brain is working on this conundrum so hard that I don't even have it in me to get flustered.

"Hello. It's Thursday!" I say. Stupidly.

Okay, well, I may not be flustered but I'm still awful.

He squints at me, "Yeah. Very true."

This is all on him. He has done this. He has come in on a Thursday morning.

"Tea?"

I ask him. It's all gone. All the structure is gone. Everything is all topsy-turvy and I want to barf.

"Uh," he hesitates, "no. I thought, maybe, I'd try something else."

"Oh?"

"Because it's Thursday. You know."

"Yeah, sure."

No, I don't know! I don't know anything anymore.

There is one woman in line behind him, but she is held up by the cookie selection and is not a pressing

threat.

"I, uh," he looks at me, and says very quietly, "I can't read the menu."

"You can't read?"

"The menu. I can read," he wrinkles his nose. Oh god, it's the cutest thing I've ever seen, "My glasses," he touches his face, hovering where the thick black frames normally are, "I broke my glasses. And I can't read the menu without them. It's too far away."

"Oh. Right," the fact that they are real glasses only makes him more charming… and makes me, literally, the worst at everything. I implied that he is illiterate?! A Professor that can't read... Christ! "Yeah. Oh, hey! You're not wearing glasses. Well, what do you like?"

"Uhh…" he's still here, that's the important thing, we can still turn this around, Rose, "Oh… just a, just a Tea is fine."

I've ruined it. I've broken it!

Where the hell is Amy, anyway?

Why am I sweating so much?

I'm not in control of the words that come out of my mouth anymore.

"I could make you my favorite thing. The thing that I like best. My favorite drink?" I actually squeak a little on the last word, like I'm fourteen.

"Oh. Yeah. That'd be… yeah."

"Great!"

I start on the café breva, and feel this extraordinary sense of calm in the eye of the panic. This must be what it's like when mothers can spontaneously lift cars off of their children. Like… my brain has let go and my body just does what it needs to do.

And it needs to make David a café breva.

I pour in the half and half, making a delicate leaf in the foam.

I may not know human interaction with him, and my love life might be a desolate apocalyptic plain of misery… but, dammit, I know coffee! And foam. And leaves.

I hand it to him, and only then do I realize it's in a mug, rather than a to-go cup. I've basically forced him to stay here, instead of running away.

He tosses his head, moving hair out of his eyes, and takes the mug.

"Thanks, Rose."

Fuhhh….

"How much?"

"£1.60."

Not it isn't. That's a cup £5.00 of foamy heaven.

"Really?"

Yeah. On Thursdays. "£1.60."

"I might have to come in on Thursdays more often then," he smiles and pays, and then finds an empty seat far, far away from the counter.

I'm watching him while I serve the cookie-lady behind him.

Before he drinks, I see him take out his iphone and snap a quick picture of the leaf in the foam. I make a strangled weird kind of groaning noise.

"You okay?" Amy materializes, finally next to me, boxing cookies.

"Where the hell were you?"

She smiles coyly.

"Rule Number Four. Sometimes Wingmen keep secrets."

I don't care. Whatever. She can do whatever she wants.

David sits and drinks his café breva quietly, reading Moby Dick with his nose really, really close to the page, licking foam from his upper lip, and all is right in the world.

Even though it's Thursday.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello! Thank you all for the reviews, and the favorites/follows. I'm so glad to see everyone enjoying this story up to this point.**

**There is a few things in this A/N I need to cover. First, this chapter is very NSFW, this is one of the reasons it's Rated M. If you're not into sexual content you can skip most of the last half of this chapter, and it will be fine.**

**A few people have been anxiously waiting for this story to move along faster, and I don't blame them at all. I will say, after this chapter there will be much more Rose/David. I just really felt the need for everyone to get the feel of Rose the way she is now.**

**I know Rose seems a bit out of character, she's not the strong self confident Rose we all know and love. All I will say is that, there is a reason for that. Also this will change, this story covers a lot of things. At this moment Rose is still trying to find herself after he life with Jimmy, yes it's been five years, but if anyone who has ever been in a controlling abusive relationship knows five years is nothing when it comes to recovering five years isn't a large span of time. Some people never fully recover, but Rose is stronger than she gives herself credit for and so is David they will bring out the best of each other.**

**I promise this will all be worth the wait.**

**Again, this is not betaed, so any and all errors are mine. Also I it has been pointed out that some of the slang isn't there or is wrong. I am Canadian, so I'm not up on British slang, but if you see something that needs fixing please PM me and I'll fix it. Wow, this is the longest A/N I've ever done. Enjoy!**

* * *

When I was a kid, I loved Halloween more than anything.

I had nine years of only-childhood, and my dad would take me Trick-or-Treating every year. He dressed up. Always. Whatever I asked him to wear, he'd wear it. Even if it was humiliating. Once, I asked him to go as the planet Saturn. He made the costume himself and wore it all night until the rings broke when he sat down.

As I outgrew Trick-or-Treating and Tony grew into it, I started taking him myself.

I, too, wore whatever costume he wanted.

Unfortunately, the dynamic was slightly different between siblings, and he made it a point to make sure I went out of the house in the most embarrassing, horrifyingly inappropriate costume possible. Every year. I finally stopped… because I was a teen and I wasn't about to let a nine year old humiliate me.

Then Dad died, I dropped out of school and moved away with Jimmy.

Which is why, now, I hate costumes. Loathe them. They're fine for other people to wear, people can do what they want. I won't stop anyone from being a ghost or a slutty bumblebee or whatever they want.

But, as for me. I haven't worn a Halloween costume in almost ten years.

I explain this to Amy as she drags me into a warehouse on a Saturday afternoon.

"But we need costumes for work!"

I have been snookered into this. Amy is too excited about the whole thing.

Jack decreed that not only would the Halloween daytime hours be a costume and decoration fest, but we would hold a party in the shop after. He was thrilled to be hosting a party, and had invited the Nobles and instructed us to invite whoever we'd like, provided they were interesting and adhered to the mandatory costumes-required dress code.

This store smells like rubber.

I experience a vivid flashback to the claustrophobic interior of a gorilla mask that Tony had insisted I wear when he was seven. My face smelled like that mask for, I swear, the next two weeks.

It's a chain of stores that pop up in late September, crawling into empty banks and industrial spaces to sell all this Halloween… stuff. Halloween Superstores.

Their slogan is,_** "Change your face! It's Halloween!"**_ which I find really annoying.

I bury my hands in my pockets as Amy pushes the button on a display of a rotting corpse crawling out from under a Styrofoam tombstone. It lurches for my foot and groans, LED eyes flashing red, and a blood curdling scream echoed through the shop.

I gasp jumping back, I wasn't expecting it.

"Poor Rosie!" she laughs, "You're a big scaredy cat!"

"I am not. Last night I killed a spider in the shower, like it was nothing."

"Your bloodlust knows no bounds…" she chuckles and leads me by the elbow further into the seemingly endless cavern of the shop.

"Hey, what are you two doing here?"

I see Rory's head over the top of a rack of fake plastic boobs and butts. I see only the top of Clara's head. She hops up, peeking over the rack, spy hopping like an enthusiastic little whale, "Rose!"

"We're here to find Clara a costume," Rory said, "currently we've narrowed it down to being Harry Potter. Or a tree."

"Ooh," I say, laughing, "what kind of a tree, Clara?"

"I was thinking a willow… but… I not sure! It's such a big decision!"

Amy, meanwhile, has tied the plastic shell of a muscular male torso onto herself.

"I'm glad you two are here," she says, adjusting the shiny pectorals over her chest, and I know she's trying to line up the unhealthily-reddish pink plastic nipples with her own, "I feel like Rosie is going to put up a stink about trying things on."

"I have to-" I groan, "You didn't say I had to try anything on! Can't I just buy a thing in a bag? That," I point, "Can't I just buy that?"

"You want to wear a grim reaper costume?" she looks at me as if I have just said the most offensive thing imaginable, "a long shapeless black robe that covers your face?"

I shrug.

"She's hopeless," Rory says, laughing, and shaking his head, "I've never in my life met anyone like her. I thought all women loved to dress up."

"Hey! I like to dress up, just not in monkey suits." I'm feeling defensive. They're ganging up on me. The wingmen have turned!

"Rose," Amy says this softly, "Halloween is a gift to our sex lives. It allows us to dress in a manner that we would never normally dress. We can be whatever we want, for one night. And we can drink, copious amounts of alcohol in costumes. It's the ultimate inhibition suppression, because not only are you socially lubricated, but even an awkward, gorgeous woman can wear something sexy and play a character. Maybe one who isn't so… awkward?"

"You know, it's really hard to take you seriously, at all, when you're wearing that."

"My eyes are up here," she says, pointing at her face, "Wingman Rule Number Five: Who you are is perfect and wonderful and I love you to pieces, but sometimes you should try being someone else. Come on, it'll be fun. We'll all try things on."

"Sure. Fine," Rory says, encouragingly, "I've already got my costume, but for moral support, I will try on costumes."

"Thanks," I say dryly.

The dressing rooms are little more than large hastily assembled crates with white sheets tacked on for privacy. We approach with arm loads of plastic bags.

The attendant, a young boy probably in some serious violation of labor laws, waves us in without looking up from his handheld game thing. I want to call it a Gameboy, but I know that's wrong.

There are two larger "rooms" while the rest are occupied by giggling girls trying on sexy insect costumes. Amy, Clara and I go into one, and Rory goes into another.

Clearly more comfortable in her own skin than I am, Amy stripped down to her bra and knickers before the white sheet even closes all the way.

It's not that I'm uncomfortable with Amy. It's just that I'm uncomfortable with anybody, I never use to be this way, in high school I was more athletic, the girls always changed together. My life changed once I dropped out. When did I become so uptight?

Taking a deep breath I slowly start to undress, as I carefully fold each piece of clothing to prolong the embarrassment of trying on these ridiculous costumes.

Amy shimmy's into a pair of polyester skin tight pants when she realizes I've hardly moved.

"Rose?"

"Amy."

"Don't worry. Nothing untoward is going to happen here. Sexy as the aroma of dirty feet inside a packing crate is, I won't do anything to harm you're fragile sensibilities."

"Huh? Oh. God! Umm… no… it's not that. I, just…" I can hear the echo of Jimmy's voice in my mind. He would have been so angry if he knew I was changing in a public place. Will my life ever be the way it was, I don't want Amy and Clara to know, it's embarrassing, I've heard the ridicule other women get when they leave relationship's like mine was with Jimmy. Even after five years it's still hard. I don't want my friends to look at me with pity, or worse yet with disgusted.

"I'm… shy."

She looks at me bewildered, "Do you have some kind of… oddness under there?"

"What?"

"Parasitic twin?"

"I don't even know what that is-"

"The mark of the beast?"

"Whaa?"

"I'm sure you're fine. I won't judge. I've seen it all."

I swallow hard and finish undressing. I realize that as she's adjusting her sexy pirate vest, and she is surreptitiously watching me.

"Hey."

"You've got me interested now. I'm anticipating all manner of deformity."

I sigh, "Amy, I'm not deformed, I'm just… not use to changing in public."

Her eyebrows raise a little, but she makes no comment as she finishes putting on the belt of her costume.

As I slip on the first costume in the pile, a very low cut Victorian style dress. Clara picked this one, it dark maroon frills do little to hide my now very exposed bust line.

Just as I finished adjusting the slip, Rory's voice booms from the other side of the curtain.

"What is taking you so long in here?" Rory pushes aside the sheet.

I yelp.

"Rose, Tyler," he snatches my forearms which I am pathetically trying to cover my chest with, praying mantis, praying mantis, "Come here."

"Rory…" he's dragging me out of the crate, beyond the sheet that mocks me viciously as I lose the last of my privacy.

There is a mirror in the hall of sorts created by the dressing rooms. One dusty mirror, propped up against the wall.

"You are fucking gorgeous," he says against my back, pushing me towards the mirror.

_I'm really not. I'm too skinny, my hips are weird-_

"I had no idea you were hiding this under all those loose jumpers," he pulls down on my wrists, "Look at you!"

"Oooh, Rose" I hear Clara behind me, "you're so pretty, I knew that dress would look perfect on you. You're like a princess. "

There are two guys at the other end of the shop gawking at me. One lets out a long wolf whistle. I'm blushing, oh god I'm so embarrassed.

"Will you please let me get a shirt?"

"Oh, you're no fun," Amy says, "let me try one thing real quick, okay?"

She leaves me there, and I see in the mirror as she darts out of the dressing room area, wearing a pirate wench costume.

My other two wingmen stand there, looking at me with stupid grins on their faces.

"Come on, guys…" I groan.

Rory is leaning against the wall, looking every inch like a barefoot Han Solo. And wearing a shirt. For which, best friend or not, I loathe him.

Clara is wearing… I think it's a geisha costume, but one obviously meant for a much larger person.

"You really look very pretty," she says trying to sound reassuring.

"Thanks, Clara."

"You're welcome."

I feel so exposed, but the more I look at the dress the more I like it. Maybe this won't be so bad after all? It's just my chest, I feel as if they are going to pop out any second.

Amy returns holding some plastic sparkly crown in her hands.

"What is that?"

"A Queen needs a crown."

I stand there and let her slip the plastic thing on my head, situating it's studded with plastic gem stones, and fake gold detail.

"Oh, god," she says, adjusting it onto my head, "You're getting this."

"What?!"

"It looks. So. Good."

There is a general murmur of agreement from the peanut gallery.

"This isn't too much?" I ask pointing blatantly at my chest.

"No, it's perfect, you're going to be the hottest babe there!"

"Second hottest," Rory says, grabbing Amy and pulls her into him, I try not to watch as his arms snake around her waist, and their lips crash against each other. Amy moaned very loudly, and I can't help but think about David doing that too me. I feel flush as I see a young kid run off giggling back to his parents.

"Okay, okay you two there are children in here…" I turn to face them. Rory nips her lip before letting go of Amy's waist. Then three eager faces staring at me expectantly. I twirl once in front of the mirror, the dress makes a whooshing sound, and I realize that I never dressed as a princesses before on Halloween, maybe I'll invite David. If he'll come, I wonder if he would like it. I grin. "Okay. I'll get this. But! I'm wearing it with a shawl or something. I think there are health codes."

Amy claps, "You really do look hot, Rosie. You look so good I hardly even looked at Rory-Han-Solo, which," she turns, "by the way, is a personal fantasy that's never yet been fulfilled."

"Noted." He smirks.

Clara stokes a hand down my hair, "Your hair is so smooth and shiny. Do you condition it?"

"Uh, yeah."

"It shows, can I do your hair? I'm really good at it, and you will look so pretty."

"Sure, Clara. No problem."

Clara squeals, and we change back into real clothes, and back in my comfortable jeans and jumper, I buy the princess costume. And a crown, and adding a deep burgundy should wrap thingy. This is happening.

Amy buys her wench costume, Clara buys a puzzlingly large pile of things, and Rory quietly buys the Han Solo costume at a different register.

It is then, and only then, that I realize that David will see me in this, if he comes to the party.

Me wearing a very over done princesses dress, with my boobs practically falling out.

After being surrounded by the three of them virtually non-stop, I find myself puttering around my flat kind of at a loss at actually being alone.

I just feel… antsy. It's that weird adjustment period of relearning how to be alone. I used to be alone most of the time. If I wasn't at work or at my Mum's flat being assaulted with questions on when I was going to find mister right.

Hmm.

The boxes of Tony's stuff is in the boot of my car and has been for two days. Driving around with it, I'm convinced that I'm going to be rear-ended, or something and whatever's inside the boxes will come spilling out. It's like I'm a mobster and I'm driving around with a dead body in there until I can make it out to the gorge. I get shifty eyed behind the wheel. Paranoid.

I need to just take them back to Mum's is what I need to do. I had texted him to see what he wanted me to do with them. He still hasn't responded to my texts.

I check my phone.

No new messages. No texts.

The world has once again forgotten about ol' Hermit Tyler.

I hear footsteps on the stairs outside and then Amy's door opening, her voice muffled and indistinct but welcoming. Her door squeaks. The landlady really needs to do something about it.

Amy and I both call her the Dragon-Lady and I'm secretly terrified that she'll hear us saying it one day and put a gypsy curse on us. But she is legitimately intimidating… to me anyway. And I know I'd rather just fix things around the place myself rather than call her.

Oh, fantastic.

I've been in Amy's place numerous times. I know for a fact that her bed is directly over my couch.

And… apparently she has not rearranged her furniture since I was over. Overhead, I hear what I know is Amy's headboard rocking against the wall, accompanied by the creaking of her box spring.

I can hear a muffled male voice. Moaning.

Okay. That's enough of that.

I stand up.

Mickey regards the sounds coming from Amy's apartment with a twitching ear.

I hear the male voice again and twitch in my own way.

"Okay! Great! That's just great!"

It's, uh… it's been a long time.

I'd rather not think about how long.

I'd really…

Five years.

I imagine myself grabbing a broom and hitting the ceiling with it, trying to get them to quiet down… or put a pillow between the headboard and the wall… or… just stop having more sex than me.

More sex than zero sex?

I will not be a crazy old hermit.

I will not get the broom.

I will take a shower. It is as far away from ground zero-sex here. And the water will be loud. And hot. And.

And I'm so pathetic that a few garbled moans from Mystery-Buddy upstairs and I'm slightly aroused.

Okay. Fine.

Showers are nice.

Showers are soothing.

I like my shower. I spent a month researching showerheads and finally decided on this one. Aesthetically, it's beautiful. And functionality wise it's a dream. Like taking a shower in the rain… but… not cold and windy.

An actual rain shower would be really uncomfortable and not very functional.

Mine is better. I'm a shower girl. I love baths don't get me wrong, but there's something about showers…

I get in and let the water run down my back and over my shoulders. This is perfect. Exactly what I needed. I lather up and-

Oh.

Well. That feels good too.

Soap and water and skin. It's just good. Pleasurable sensations, all melting together.

Okay. Wait.

I wet my hair, pushing it back from my face. I can still hear them, even louder now.

I think about a smooth neck.

Why do I always start with the neck?

I find them revealing. Sexy. Sexy in that way. Because it's like seeing them behind the mask. When you bring your lips to the neck, reaction you get is thrilling, and very, very hot.

_-David_

His neck are narrow but freckled.

His dark brown hair is wet, dripping. And-

I groan and it echoes. He does have an amazing voice. I'll give him that. And his accent, I can listen to him talk forever.

I let my soapy hand slide along my body, they aren't my hands anymore. Strong hands. David's hands slip up to my breasts, pinching gently twist each of my nipples forming a peek, sending a thrill through my entire body. He's moaning my name thick and husky into my ear. I can't help but let a low moan in response.

Oh, it feels good. I let one hand slide down my body, my fingers delve softly into my wet folds. I love the gentle touch. I know he'll touch me just like this. Fingers circle my clit lightly making me gasp. I lean forward, my forearm against the tile, my head on my arm.

These is his fingers, not mine.

It's bigger than mine.

Rougher, but still so gentle.

Oh. God.

Yes, he holds me closer. His front pressed against my back. I can feel him hard and throbbing along against my backside. He's behind me, and smooth and wet and slick and hot.

His hand slides up my back pushing me down, bending me over. I feel the head of his cock tease my entrance. I want him, I need him inside of me.

_"David, please." I'm begging. I want it. I need it. I need him, it's been so long._

He slides his hard length into me,. My entire body shivers as he fills me, how I love that full feeling as he pushes all the way inside of me. His fingers start working on my clit with every deep thrust. He's going to make me come soon.

"Oh, fuck."

He's holding my chest with his other hand, like leverage.

_"Harder."_

_"Hmmm…"_

That sexy, throaty, deep sound.

I look down and watch his hand-

Not mine.

I want to see him.

_"Rose."_ I hear him grunt, his breath hot on the back of my neck. I feel him as his fills me with every thrust, growing even harder the closer he gets.

I want to see water in his black, thick perfect eyelashes.

I want to see him. His dark brown eyes filled with lust for me, I want to wrap my legs around his waist. I want feel his body against mine as he thrusts himself deeper into to me, bringing me closer to the edge.

He won't let me turn around.

He holds me in place.

And I hear,_ "Rose, Oh, my Rose. I'm going too…"_ against my back, my shoulder blades.

But now it's not a thoughtful noise. He's moaning louder, I want to hear him when he comes. I want to feel him throbbing inside of me when…

"Davi…" I whimper. "D-David!"

**I'mgonnacome, I'mgonnacome, I'mgonnacome.**

"I'm…"

His legs are against my legs.

And I can feel him as he-

**I'mgonnacome, I'mgonnacome.**

"Don't be loud… I want to be loud, I don't want them to hear…"

I feel his teeth against my shoulder blade.

_"They'll hear you upstairs."_

I'm gasping now, trying to hold steady to the shower walls.

I don't care. His fingers are in my mouth.

**I'mgonnacome-**

"Ahh! Fuck! David!" I cry out, much louder than I meant too but I don't care.

I fall apart, it's been so long since I've come this hard, for this long.

When I resurface into the world, I just kind of sag there against the tile. And I'm blind.

And my ears ring.

And it's just me.

Just me.

Rose Tyler alone.

Eventually, my vision returns. I shampoo. Feeling self-conscious I rub a little conditioner into my hair. I feel good. Like my circulation has drastically improved.

My legs shake a little as I step out, and grab my towel.

I feel a little bad. Like I've imposed on him.

But… it's not like this is the first time, either. It's fine! Right?

I head out into the living room, grabbing my phone on the way.

Two new texts.

**From: Tony**

**Body: Just keep them at your place, I'll bring them back with me at Christmas.**

"Christmas!" I groan, pulling the towel off and drying my hair.

**From: Rory**

**Body: Amy and I ordered a pizza. wanna come up?**

Well then. Mystery-Moaning-Buddy is Rory. I hope they didn't hear me. Oh please don't. My stomach growls loudly. Pizza sounds really good right about now. Throwing on some clean clothes, I run a brush through my hair grab my keys and head up to Amy's flat.

Tomorrow I am going to ask David to the party, I feel confident and my wingmen will be there to back me up. I think everything in my life is about to change.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Everyone seemed to love that last chapter, I'm so glad to hear it. The reviews were amazing, thank you. And because of all the amazing Reviews I've rushed this chapter along. I wasn't going to post it till the weekend, but I can help myself. It's a long chapter, the longest yet. I hope everyone enjoys it, and I look forward, and love all the reviews.**

** If I missed responding to anyone I am sorry.**

* * *

Here's the thing. I had, in a truly inspiring act of bravery when I mentioned the costume party to David on the following Thursday. Oh yeah, he comes in on Thursdays now. It's definitely a thing. Twice. Two Thursdays. He's ordered the Thursday Special, and it doesn't exist for anyone but him. I'd argue that makes it more special. I made a star-burst in the foam the second time. It was pretty nice. I'm not bragging, normally I'm not very good at it… I mean, it was a nice looking star-burst.

He seemed pretty happy with the whole costume party idea. Well, I would say more than happy, he was positively beaming.

He'd seemed very dismissive about Halloween in general at first, and while I am positively thrilled to find out we legitimately have something in common. It's not that I hate Halloween it used to be one of my favorite times of the year, but after Dad died my love for it died with him. I was sure he'd turn me down at first, or make up some reason he couldn't come. I mean, it would be a Friday after all. Most people have weekend plans, but after a few touch and go moments with me babbling about pumpkins, and how tricker treaters are adorable, and that I still enjoy handing out candies just so see the kids all dressed up. I finally got up the nerve to ask him. It was as if someone turned a bright beaming light on his face, he lit up and with his heart melting smile he quickly agreed.

I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that there was a part of me dying to see what costume he'll wear.

If he wore a costume.

I mean, not that I'm, like, sitting at home fantasizing about him in costumes.

No. Maybe, okay a little bit.

Oh, god, I'm a pervert.

Tomorrow night, I can't believe tomorrow will be our first date. Is it considered a date? I mean, I didn't really ask him out or anything. I just invited him to a party, where everyone will be dressed up in costume. Okay maybe it is a date, what if he doesn't think it's a date? Thank god Amy, Rory and Clara will be there.

OoO

Just so it's known, I'm not a heavy drinker. I've only been really, really drunk ten times in my life.

Once, not long after the breakup, I got obliterated at a Scottish pub and started speaking only in Polish. But no one else spoke Polish… so they didn't really know if I was speaking actual Polish or not.

I don't know Polish, I was just really drunk and thought I could.

Tonight, at 12:32 am, I know that this is Drunk in My Life Time #11.

He didn't show up.

But. Whatever. Refocus, Rose. It's a great party, nice and classy just the way that you'd expect Jack to do it. He spent a lot of money. He rented a projector and a screen and has been showing classic Monster Movies all night. Which is great! I love old movies.

He also spent a lot of money on alcohol.

A lot.

And I drank.

A lot.

I wasn't being, like, a sad drunk. I was egged on. It was fun. We were all doing it.

I just don't exactly know when everyone else stopped.

But I'm handling myself extremely well.

No one can tell that I'm drunk.

Not. A. One.

I'm standing by myself. Harry Potter hands me a glass of water.

"That's a lot of ice!" I say, drinking it down faster than I most likely should.

"I thought you might need some, Rose," he says, sounding very much like Clara, "You're a little drunk right now."

"Oh, I am, Harry," I laugh, because I'm really funny, "and I am. Oh!"

Harry Potter has a stuffed white owl on his shoulder, and I want to pet it.

So I do.

Its then that The Big Lebowski comes up to us.

"Have you ever petted an owl?" I ask him.

"Yeah, of course I have."

"It's nice! I should do it more often, they're a lot friendlier than I thought they would be." I'm drinking my water and the ice is really cold and my teeth hurt, "I need a dentist I think."

"Hey, there, Princesses," he says, "how you doin, beautiful?"

"I'm great! This water is great! This owl… have I met this owl before?"

"Where's Amy?" Harry asks The Big Lebowski.

"Over there, making friends," he sips a White Russian.

"Friends!" I turn, but he grabs my arm.

"Yup. And we're going to let her."

"I like friends," I let him pull me back, "Are you making friends?"

"Clara was," The Big Lebowski's eyebrows are really animated.

"Oh, stop it. I was just talking to him."

"Him?! Him who?" Oh, that owl. "Hoo… hoo…"

"That bloke. With the floppy hair."

"I thought he was nice."

"Hoo?"

"That guy, over there," Lebowski points at a bloke in a big furry black and white costume, the head of the suite flopped back, and ahead of thick brown hair flopped down almost over his face. He would be cute if it wasn't for the suite.

"Is he a Skunk?"

"He's a Badger."

"Harry, you thought that a Badger was nice?! Don't you know anything about Badgers?!"

"I did a presentation about them in school. Once. I made a tiny Badger den-"

I have never heard anything as funny as that in my life.

I'm laughing so hard that I'm crying!

"Okay, Queen Rose," Lebowski has an arm around my shoulder, "I think I might have underestimated how seriously you took the whole, 'Have a few drinks and relax,' thing."

"I gave him water," Harry says.

"And I am drinking it! You know what this water needs, though? A tiny badger!"

"I think I'm going to take her outside for a minute. A little bit of fresh air."

"I think the air in here is very fresh."

"You would."

"What about our new friends? Are you making new friends tonight?"

Lebowski is guiding me towards something shaped like a door.

"I'm just sticking with the old friends tonight," he says, opening the door in front of me and I feel like I'm falling through it, "You've got me all to yourself."

"Oh," I'm outside, "Do I want you all to myself?"

He laughs, and pushes me towards the little bench. Benches are cute. What did people do before benches? Where did the sit outside? Where did they wait for buses?

I sit down.

"I'm hot."

"It's cooler out here. You'll cool down."

"Help me," I am wearing a lot of things right now. Too many.

I try to pull my shawl off, I forgot I had pinned it down so I wouldn't lose it.

But, oh god! I'm stuck. I'm stuck in the shawl and the crown is caught in my hair.

"Help me!"

"Okay, calm down," I'm blind in the shawl. I tried to pull it over my head, but I feel Lebowski's hands unclipping the pins around the shoulders in the back and pulling it off of me.

"I can breathe!"

"Where's your water?"

"I lost it. I'd like another scotch and soda, please."

"Maybe in a little bit, okay?"

I sigh heavily and flop back, "Okay, fine. Sit down and talk to me. Tell me about your rug."

He sits, "My rug?"

"Yeah! It tied the room together!"

"You're adorable. And wasted. How did you get this drunk?"

"I drank."

"Oh, yeah, that explains it."

Oh… This isn't The Big Lebowski. It's Rory! My best friend Rory.

"Hey!"

"What?"

"Amy wrote a book."

He laughs, Rory… not The Big Lebowski. Just Rory in a Big Lebowski costume. His robe looks very soft and I wonder if it's his actual bathrobe. "Did Amy tell you about that?"

"No. I saw it. In your apartment. When Alonso was there... Naked."

I whispered that last part, in case it's a secret he wants to keep.

"Oh… yeah… She wrote a book. A few, actually."

"What about?"

"Well, she wrote one good book, which no one bought. And then… she had bills and so she started writing bad books, and people buy those enough to keep a roof over her head."

"I don't know what you're saying to me right now."

He smiles, "You ever heard of The Time Travelers Adventures?"

"The… ideas?"

"No. The Time Traveler series that you can buy at the airport and finish in the air between San Francisco and Chicago."

"Yes."

"She wrote those."

"She wrote that?!"

"Yeah."

"I thought another bloke wrote those."

"She used a different name."

"Why?"

"She's… a different person when she writes. Because she's embarrassed by them? I don't know. Don't say anything, she's a fantastic writer, she just doesn't believe in herself enough."

"Hmmm…" I pat his knee, "I'm sorry she doesn't like her popular books."

"It's okay. Like I said, just don't say anything to her unless she tells you herself."

"Hey," I look down at myself, my cleavage bulges out of the top of my dress, and I don't even care anymore. "I've lost my costume."

"Most of it, yeah."

"It's Halloween, I should put it back on."

"You want me to help?"

"Yes, please."

He picks up my crown and shawl.

"No, forget that. Just this. I'm too hot for that shawl."

He laughs, lifting my crown back onto my head, "What happened to modest Rose?"

"I'm," I guffaw, "My temperature is too high to wear that shawl. I'm modest! I'm so modest. You don't even know how modest I am."

"I believe you."

"Does it look bad, I don't look like a slag do I?"

He adjusts the plastic crown on my head, and as he's adjusting it when he looks at me and says, really seriously, "No. You look great."

"Would you fuck me?"

"Modest, huh?"

"It's a… scientific inquiry."

"For science? Hell yes I would."

"That's good to know," then, all of a sudden, I feel sad.

Why am I sad?

What's happened to me?

"He didn't show up, Rory."

"No. He didn't, sweetheart. His loss," he stands up, and he's tall and protective like the big brother I never had, at least it seems like it. "I'm going to get you more water, okay."

"Why didn't he show up?"

"You said you didn't seem to like Halloween, right? That's probably it. Jack was very specific about the mandatory costume policy."

"Yeah…"

"Stay here, I'll be back."

He goes.

I don't stay.

I follow him back in.

Harry Potter, who, clearly, is actually Clara has taken her owl off of her shoulder and is holding it against her chest and talking to a very, very drunk Badger.

There is a mostly naked pirate girl talking to a very good looking guy, with short cropped hair, in black leather. I know that pirate!

I start walking towards her.

A wet hand on my chest sends me back.

"Hey!"

"Hey, yourself Rose," it's Rory, "I'm not just your wingman, I'm her wingman too. And you really need to not be a cock-block right now."

"Cock-Block!" I'm laughing.

Why is everything at this party so funny?!

"Drink this," he pushes a glass of water into my hand. I take it and drink it in four massive gulps.

"Hey, I'm think about heading out soon. Our teammates seem to have partnered off. So. I'll drop you off at home, okay?"

"No. I don't want to go home. Let's hang out."

"I don't know how great of an idea that is."

"What? Why?"

"How did you get her shawl off?" The pirate girl, my beautiful Amy, is standing next to him. "Seriously. I want to hear every detail of that story."

"I was hot."

"You are hot, Rosie!"

"You!" I pat her head.

"No luck with Chris?" Rory asks.

"No. Not tonight."

He looks over his shoulder, "That's too bad."

"He'll be back."

Clara is there then, scowling behind her round glasses.

"What happened to the Badger?"

"He's married!"

"Oh, sweet-thing!" Amy hugs her.

I pat her owl.

"Well…" Rory says, "this was a bust then. Want to call it a night?"

"No! We're going to go to your place, and we're going to drink alcohol and coffee and stay up until the sun rises. And then it will be November. Wait. It's November right now! Let's go."

I pass them, heading for the door, my dress whooshes with every step.

I curtsy Jack as I pass him.

The three of them follow me.

I open the door.

I almost run into the person standing there.

It's David, he's in doctor's scrubs with an adorable surgeon's hat with little clocks all over it, and a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

"Hey!"

Oh, shit!

"You're here!" I nearly ran over him.

I hug him. Which is completely mental. But I do it anyway. It's cold outside but he feels warm. No, hot.

And while he doesn't hug me back, he doesn't push me away or anything.

I'm going to count this as a drunk win.

He smirks steps back, his eyes wide, when I let him go, "Uh, Yeah. I. Um, Had to… get a costume."

"Are you a Doctor?! That's freaking awesome!"

"I… yeah. I'm a Doctor. Well, I'm a real Doctor too." He say's rubbing the back of his neck.

I want to taste that neck.

I can see him in the light of the string Jack-O-Lantern lights Jack had me put on the awning. His eyes are really big and dark. Have they always been that big?

He's looking at my chest.

Because my cleavage is really showing, and I have a nice size chest if I do say so myself.

And… I don't have my shawl on.

He's been staring for a while.

Thank god I put my corset on that my Mum pestered me to buy. I'm officially wearing corsets forever.

The door opens behind me, then closes again immediately.

"Are you… leaving?"

He looks sad! Don't be sad!

"Yeah. But, we're going to my best friend's place right now, to drink tea, and coffee and stuff and watch the sunrise."

"Oh."

"You should come with us!"

Thank you, alcohol, for shutting down my stupid, willful brain and letting my mouth say this thing out loud even though I already, drunkenly, kind of regret-

"Oh… okay. I'd love that."

Oh my fucking god.

The door opens behind me. I hear keys.

"I call shotgun," Amy says behind me.

"That is a roomy back seat," Rory says, "come on then. Hey, David."

"I'm driving your car, Rory?"

"I think that's for the best, Mr. Potter."

"Okay. Come on then. Ooh, this'll be fun. A sleepover... without sleeping!"

I think I see David twitch out of the corner of my eye. I think for a second that he's not going to come. That would make sense. I've abandoned sense. Completely.

But he does walk next to me towards the car.

He does let my drunk arm brush against his in a totally not accidental, accidental way.

And when we're in the back seat, he sits in the middle, and thank god for my legs because I have no choice, no choice, but to let our legs touch.

I must look smug. But I don't care. It's dark in the car and no one can really see me... not even David who is wedged in next to be, very quiet, with his gloved hands folded between his knees.

OoO

Rory's place is nice. I like it. It smells like books.

I like the smell of books.

He walks in ahead of the rest of us, flips on the lights and really quickly kicks some clothes out of the middle of the room under his unmade bed.

Such a big bed. Without an Alonzo this time. But with a really big, really fluffy down comforter. White sheets. White pillows.

I want to sit on that cozy bed.

No, I really want to run across the room and take a flying leap and fall into that bed.

And I want David to fall next to me.

David.

He's actually here, standing right next to me, his face totally unreadable and calm. And perfect. And kind of strange looking and really familiar at the same time.

He's put his new glasses back on, and watching him do it, I don't know! I found the action of him putting on glasses just, like, hypnotic. Erotic? Are glasses erotic? Is that a kink I have? Maybe it is.

Maybe it's just him though.

Maybe watching him turn pages of a book would be just as erotic.

No, I know it was. I watched him read last Sunday. It was the sexiest page turning I've ever seen.

He runs a hand through his hair and it sticks wildly in the most natural, sexy, and adorable sort of way, and looks up at me with total freaking calm on his face.

Well at least he's calm!

I feel my heart thudding in my chest, missing beats. I'm really cold now.

Why is this apartment so cold? Oh, yeah, that's right… I'm more or less naked. And standing next to David who is really wearing the fuck out of those Doctor scrubs, and what looks like a thermal shirt under it and… and not wearing anything underneath that… and, okay, calm as he may be, he's definitely cold too-

"You three make yourselves comfortable. There are extra blankets in the cupboard there… Amy…" Rory smiles at her, and he looks kind a golden buoy of calm in the sea of my anxiety, "you know where everything is. Figure we'll stay here for a bit then head up to the roof. Rose, want to help me make the coffee and get other drinks going?"

Coffee! Oh, god, yes. I know coffee! I'm a coffee professional!

"Y-yeah!"

I smell matches and candles behind me. Candles! This is bordering on romantic.

I follow Rory into the kitchen area, separated from them by a folding screen that wasn't here the last time I was.

"Rory-"

"Calm down!" he whispers, cutting off my whine, "You're doing great, He's here. He looks great. You look…"

He looks at me.

"Are you feeling more sober?"

"Yes!"

"Sobriety is your enemy right now," he says, pulling a bottle of vodka out of his freezer and pinching two shot glasses with Big Ben etched on the sides between his fingers.

He pours carefully measured shots, "Here."

"I…"

"I'm not trying to get you wasted. Just… keeping you buzzed. Maybe leaning towards drunk. Drunk-Rose can handle this. Listen, I can see that brain of yours starting to spin behind those pretty brown eyes and that's not going to do you any favors right now." He hands me the shot glass, and keeps the other, "Nostrovia."

I hate vodka.

But my buoy drinks and so, then, do I.

"You've got some moves," he grins, pouring two more shots, "Again."

I drink, swallow and shiver.

My nipples are so hard. I'm very aware of them. More aware of them, I think than I have ever been. Why did I leave my shawl at Harkness'?! You can see them through this dress.

He's pulling out bottles and mugs. I make coffee, and start feeling calm as I breathe in the comforting smell of grounds, and feel the warmth of the pot between my hands, the heat of vodka in my… in myself.

"Rory!" I whisper.

"What?"

"What if I forgot how?"

"How what?"

"How to do it."

"You'll remember," he's not really listening.

I swallow, my mouth kind of numb and dry, "It's been five years."

"Jesus Christ!"

He doesn't whisper.

"Shh!" I swat at him.

"I'm sorry. Sorry! I didn't realize…" he looks stunned, and kind of sad, like I just told him his great aunt who he never saw really but who sent him a $25 check for his birthday every year had just died.

"Jesus, Rose."

"And I haven't even kissed anyone in two years."

"You're…" he sighs.

I hear the low murmur of David's voice and the soft purr of Amy's on the other side of the screen.

"I'm gonna screw this up."

"No you're not. Be drunk-Rose! Drunk-Rose wasn't worried about anything. Here, have another."

He pours and I drink.

And then he kisses me on the mouth.

Rory's a good kisser. And he tastes kind of sweet. White Russiany.

"Hey!"

"Hold on!" he says, letting me go, "Pressure's off now, right? Now David's not going to be your first kiss in two years… Holy God, Rose, I can't believe that!"

He takes a glass bottle of cream out of the fridge. Totally nonchalant. Totally like someone who didn't just kiss me.

But he is right. A certain weight has lifted.

And, also, vodka is a good thing.

"Hey, Rory

"Yes, Rose?"

"Would you like me to make you a friendship bracelet?" It sounds silly I know, but he's been such a good friend.

He laughs, and the coffee beeps like a little robot.

"Yeah, Rose, I'd like that very much."

OoO

"Rose! You have to be quiet!"

Rory says it all serious, but he's laughing. I'm laughing. We're all laughing.

Including David who is laughing and sitting with a glass of red wine in his hand and his back against the little half wall that goes all the way around the rooftop. His legs are bent, he's wearing trainers like mine only red, and they are planted on the ground in front of him. He's laughing, and he's looking at me with that smile, my god, my chest feels warm.

Hot.

"Why do I have to be quiet, Rory?"

"Because it's four in the morning, Rose, and everyone in the building beneath your feet is trying to sleep."

"Rule Number Two!" I am on my feet, "Sleep When You're Dead!"

I feel drunk, but not as drunk as I had at Harkness. I think Rory's secretly an alcohol MD, or a booze pharmacist or a vodka wizard something… he knew exactly how much to give me.

"Rosie!" Amy is there, next to me. Her legs are bare still but she's pulled one of Rory's sweaters on over her wench-suit. I pick a lint-ball from her shoulder.

She throws a blanket around my shoulders and pulls me in close to her, tugging me off my balance,

"Why don't you sit down for a bit?"

"Eh? I was telling a story. I was in the middle of a story-"

"No, Rosie, you were at the end of a story that had somehow devolved into something that looked vaguely reminiscent of a Riverdance," she laughs, "and how are you not cold?"

"Tyler's blood runs hot," I assure her, glancing over at David, his eyes bore into mine. I shiver, I know I have the stupidest grin on my face. "Once! Oh my god, once-"

"This sounds like another long story…" Clara whispers sweetly from where she's sitting with Rory. We brought all his extra blankets and pillows up here and the two of them are nestled in together like two little baby birds in a nest.

"Well, listen, Rosie," Amy says more quietly, pulling my face down towards hers, "I'm cold. And there's a lot of snuggling going on over there without me that I want to be a part of," she points at the nest, "and I think you should go and sit down over there," she glances at the very much unoccupied and surprisingly Rose-shaped spot next to David.

"You've hardly talked to him at all," she fusses with the blanket around my shoulders like a cape.

"I've… I've talked to him!"

"Inadvertently while telling all of us about your childhood love of dance, I think. Go."

Oh, god. I was telling them about the dance classes… of all the stories I could tell...

"I don't want to mess it up!"

She shrugs, "You've been messing it up for weeks and, yet, here he is on a cold rooftop at four in the morning… being ignored by you."

"I'm not ignoring-"

She kisses me, a peck on the lips, and slaps my ass, "Go! I'm cold and Rory and Clara are warm and inviting and you need to be a big girl right now."

She's gone.

I hold the blanket around my throat and walk, with great dignity, towards him.

His elbows are resting on his knees and he's turning the glass, watching the wine swirl.

"Is it good?" That sounds smooth, Rose.

"Oh yeah. It's… nice."

"Can I…" Excuse me, is this seat taken? Derp. Derp. Derp.

"Yeah, sure," he scoots a little as though to accommodate me but he doesn't need to. There's plenty of room. Lots. A whole wall.

And I sit, with no grace whatsoever legs stretching long and awkward away from me. I realize that my dress is all bunched up, and try to adjust it demurely.

I tuck the edges under my thighs. Which looks silly.

Oh, god, he's watching me adjust my dress.

I give up and cross one leg over the other, straight out in front of me.

"Do you want to try?"

"Huh?"

The wine. His wine is much closer to my face than I expected and it takes my eyes a second to adjust.

"Oh, sure, yeah."

I take it. I sniff like I know what I'm doing and take a sip. And like a total freak, I try to line up my lip to the spot where his lip has left a mark on the glass. Because I'm a pervert.

"That's nice. And red."

And thus, I've exhausted all my wine knowledge. Nice and red.

He takes it back and drinks, and he totally doesn't turn the glass to find a new lip-spot. Maybe he's a pervert too! Or. Maybe it's dark and he didn't notice. How could he not notice that our lips touched the glass in the same place?!

"So… you uh, had a good time?"

"Hmm?"

"At the party. You, you seem like you had…"

"Oh! Yeah. It was nice. You were late."

Brain!

"Again," he rubs the back of his neck again, it's a nervous habit. I think it's adorable.

There's a scar on his chin, most like under his chin. Why haven't I ever noticed it before? It's not like I stare at peoples chins, but I can't help it, he has an adorable chin even with the thick lumpy white scar that I never noticed before now. It looks like it was a really bad cut, very deep, most likely needed stitches. I almost reach out and touch his chin.

Too forward, really too forward.

"Tell me about that." The words are out before I can filter, I blame the wine.

"Excuse me?"

Fuck. Too forward. Isn't that a rule? You don't ask about peoples scars? It's rude, or something. It's too late now.

"Your chin. It's really… It looks like it hurt…"

He looks at me. A wind blows and is hair gets pushed back from his completely unreadable face.

"I was young," he says slowly, setting down his glass between his feet, "and the bloke I was with did…" he clears his throat, "He did them."

"Them?"

Oh no, I've overstepped he's never going to want to speak to me again.

He clears his throat looking really uncomfortable now, and pushes the thermal sleeve up on his right arm, and holds it up so I can see, "It was a long time ago. It was his way of making me remember him. I was his pet project."

They look like white and silvery scars, some almost look like there is a pattern to them.

Which is how he's talking about them.

And I suddenly feel like the biggest jackass for asking him about something he really doesn't want to talk about.

"They look…" I can smell the skin of his arm, "painful."

Painful.

"Hmmm…" he pushes his sleeve back down.

At least I didn't ask where else they are. Even though that's all I can think about. All I can see is some of his chest where the thermal isn't buttoned and chart the course of the scars on his arm to the scars on his chest. I don't have a thing for scars or anything, it's that they are a part of him, of who he is. I realize now that we're more alike than I first thought. Only you can't see my scars, not all of them anyway.

"Do you…" he stops himself, "you don't have any?"

"Scars? Uh. A few, mostly kid stuff you know, falling off my bike. There's a couple…" I can't talk about it, not here not now. I'm not drunk enough for this talk.

"Ahh."

"I do have some scars that… well, I have one that I think looks like a dog."

"A dog?"

"Yeah," oh, god, Rose, what the fuck are you doing right now?

"Wait," I lean forward, pulling up my dress, and blanket to show him the spot on my knee that was cut up to ribbons when I flipped over my bike handlebars as a kid. And skidded down a rocky trail, hitting every rock on the way down, "There."

He leans in to get a better look. I feel his breath on my skin.

But more jarring than that, I see three sets of eyes fixed on me, like sharp-eyed baby eagles in a nest. They're sitting up, watching every move... How does this look? I'm bent forward, in a crown and dress, and his head is dipping down towards my hip.

Amy bites her lower lip and her eyes bug excitedly, like a cartoon character.

And then my world breaks into a million little pieces.

"This?"

Just a fingertip.

His.

On my skin.

And I can't see it, but I know he's right on my scar.

He touched me.

Oh… I bite back a moan and feel goose bumps spread out everywhere. Great.

"Uh. Yeah," I feel winded, my lungs crunched as my torso is bent forward.

He traces the shape of it, then his hand is gone, completely. Fast. He picks up his glass and holds it between two hands.

"I think it looks like a cow," he sips, "but… I mean… I could see how you'd see it as a dog. Too."

"They're… very alike. Sometimes."

"Not… really."

I pull my dress back down, and wrap the blanket around myself, covering my chest, and stare forward trying to not breathe weird.

The baby eagles have laid back down. The three of them are now wrapped up together in the big nest of blankets and pillows and quilts. I can't shake the image of them as baby birds. Or sausages. Rory's in between them, pointing up at the stars. Clara's head is on his shoulder and Amy's hand is idly playing with the waistband of his Lebowski shorts.

I like those people. Very much. My little baby bird sausages.

"How long have you lived here?" He doesn't look at me.

"Um. Well. A few years. Kind of. Moved here after my Dad…" Okay. This story gets long, fast, "A few years."

"Me too," he says, "I still don't know what I think of it."

"I like it," I say, "I like the people."

He exhales through his nose, and I hear it echo in his glass. "A few of them are all right, yeah."

"How's… work?"

He shrugs, "Slow. I've been taking on a few new students this week," he finally looks up at me, "not the most fulfilling. I don't think I'm very good at it, honestly. I like teaching, but I miss traveling sometimes."

"Oh?"

"Or, maybe I just need to get back into a normal job."

"Maybe it's a two-way street of dislike."

"Yeah. More than likely."

I want to say, I like you.

But I don't.

"What do you… like to do? I mean other than teach."

He laughs at that, "I… funny thing is I like to take photos sometimes, and tinker with things. You know take stuff apart, see how they work maybe make them work even better than before."

I'm nodding stupidly, fast.

"I'd… if you were interested of course… I'd like to…"

He's stumbling.

"I've never had my picture taken by a professional. Well. No, that's not true. I did as a kid. For my birthdays."

I see the absolutely humiliating gallery of our childhood portraits in Mum's flat. I was a gawky kid.

He looks back at me, eyes narrowed behind the glasses.

"I'm not really a professional…You'd be interested, in letting me?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Yeah. We'll… I've got a lot of free time now. So… whenever works for you. We should. Do that."

He wants to take my picture.

"Neat!" Again with NEAT. "Really. That'll be… cool." Nice save, Rose.

"I'll, um, give you my number. So you can text me and let me know when," he smiles and finishes his wine.

I watch his throat as he swallows.

God.

"I think I'm ready for coffee now," he starts to stand, "do you… want some?"

"Yeah," I nod, looking up at him, "Black. Please."

"What are you doing?!"

None of them move. And neither do I.

"What?"

"Follow him, you idiot!" Amy starts to get up, but Rory pulls her back down.

"He's… he's getting coffee."

He walked past them, and they all just lay there playing possum until his feet made no more noise on the fire-escape. Then they sat up and started glaring at me. And yelling at me in stage-whispers.

"Follow. Him." Rory says through his teeth.

"Rose, I think they're right. I think you need to follow him down," Clara has her hands folded in front of her chest and looks at me like a little praying cartoon mouse.

"But, then… we'll be alone," I whisper.

They stare at me.

"And your problem with being alone with the object of your sexual obsession in a room with a comfortable bed and a nightstand full of condoms is exactly-"

"Condoms!" I stand up. "Sexual obsession!"

"Stop acting like my grandmother," Amy rolls her eyes, "And. Go."

I want to go.

My instinct is telling me to go.

But my instinct tells me to do lots of things that are completely idiotic.

I need a new instinct.

"Wh…" I push my damn hair out of my face, that's almost completely fallen out of its french braid "I'm…"

They look up at me, imploring and irritated and, oh, god Clara just looks so worried…

I start walking towards the fire escape.

It's a long way down to the ground floor. Not really that long. But it feels like it. It feels like forever and my body is so clumsy and feels heavy and it sounds like an elephant coming down the fire escape. At least I won't startle him. He'll hear me coming.

The back door is open, and I can hear him inside. Or, not him, but the sound of a ceramic mug being set on a countertop

.

I push the door open.

He turns around, coffee pot in his hand.

"Hey."

"Hey," I am stuck in the doorway. I'm like a vampire and I can't cross until he invites me in… even though this isn't his house and that's how that works. Or it does on True Blood. What?! "I, uh…"

He's just standing there, and I can see the muscle in his arm rounded from holding the coffee pot at such a strange angle.

"I… wanted to…"

There are Christmas lights above the kitchen cabinets, and that's all the light in the room. Thank god that he can't see me well because I'm pretty sure I'm shaking.

"I needed to…" I point to the bathroom.

"Oh. Yeah," and he moves, pouring the coffee into two mugs and turning his back to me.

His perfect back.

I scuttle past him, my dress making that god awful whooshing sound and I lunge for the refuge of the bathroom.

I shut the door and turn on the light. I lean on the counter and look up at myself.

Pathetic. You are pathetic. You're a grown woman, Rose Tyler.

Look, you have grey hairs. Two of them. You are a woman with grey hairs and you can't even…

I groan and turn on the sink.

This bathroom is filthy. Okay, not filthy, but messy. There is a pile of clothes next to the bathtub.

I sit down on the edge of the tub.

On the top of that pile of clothes is a copy of Amy's book. The one with her picture of the back. The dust jacket it rippled where it's been held by wet fingers.

Someone's drawn on her face. A swirly moustache, dark angry eyebrows, and a top hat drawn in black Sharpie. And a word bubble, which just says, "Muwa-ah-ah!" in Clara's handwriting.

There is also, I realize then, a cat.

There is a cat lounging in the bathtub. It's orange and it stares up at me with judgmental green eyes.

This is why I don't like cats. They judge you.

"I already know I'm pathetic," I whisper to the cat, "Stop looking at me like that."

He doesn't stop.

I stand up, splash water on my face and turn off the sink.

I look at my wet face, my make-up smudged, and I wipe the rest away with a towel. I flush the toilet, part of my "I had to use the bathroom" ruse, and turn off the light.

I hesitate, my hand on the doorknob, standing in the black bathroom with a cat behind me somewhere. Which is really disconcerting, actually. I imagine it coming at me and cutting my Achilles' tendon with his claws… like an assassin.

"Pathetic," I sigh.

I open the door.

He's right there.

I don't move.

His hands are on the door frame, but he doesn't look at me. He can't look at me.

It's dark and I can barely make out the shape of him, but I can feel the heat of his body he's that close.

I stare at him.

"I haven't…" I can hear him swallow, "done this in a long time."

This isn't happening. I slipped in the bathroom and busted my head open and I'm hallucinating this near death. That is the only explanation.

"This?" My voice cracks a little.

He doesn't look up at me, but one of his hands leaves the door frame.

I feel his fingers, hot against my neck. Too hot. The kind of hot that stays in your skin when you hold a hot cup of coffee for too long.

I can't move.

It finally really registers that this is really happening and I feel my heart in my throat, fast, like I've swallowed a frantic bird.

His fingers are there, gingerly pressing against the curve of my neck, and his thumb against my jaw. Careful. Like I might bolt.

Where would I bolt to?

"I haven't… done this in a long time either," I choke.

"Hmm…"

He looks at me. And he pulls me to him. And we must meet somewhere in the middle.

Lips.

Coffee.

Teeth.

Breathe.

His hair is so soft. Softer than I—

Tongue.

Oh, fuck.

He is kissing me.

And I am kissing him back.

And my brain goes blessedly blank, white, and clean… like fresh canvas.

Like light.

Something brushes past my bare ankles. Rory's cat runs between my legs and out of the bathroom. I yelp and jump forward, pushing David accidentally against the facing wall. I'm red everywhere, but, it's dark, so… at least I have that going for me.

I hear, and feel, him laugh, a deep, deep noise. And then the reality that he's there, in front of me, pressed closer to me. I'm so short, but he almost just seems to… fit.

"I hate cats," he growls.

I know you do because you're a wolf! Wolves hate cats! Or… I assume they do because they're pretty much dogs.

Really bad ass dogs. I love wolves I always thought if I had a spirit animal it would be a wolf. Maybe he's my spirit animal. My wolf, we could be wolves together.

"Me… I do too."

I hear him grunt, a kind of incredible animal sound, and then his hands are in my hair.

I kiss him.

I kiss him, and it's so fucking perfect that I don't even care that I'm wearing a dress and my exposed cleavage is now pressed up against him.

This is perfect, if it's a dream I never want to wake up.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Another surprise chapter! Thanks so much for all the lovely reviews, they are really inspiring. This chapter like the rest is unbetaed, so all errors are mine. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

_Oh, god._

_This is real._

_He is real._

_He is really kissing me._

_And, um, wow._

_Wow._

I'm curving my back and my neck as far as I can, to be accommodating, you know? I feel like I could just curl around him entirely.

He growls.

I couldn't have made that up. I didn't.

He pushes me back, freeing himself from the wall which now has two sweaty bricks from where my palms were pressed into it for, how long has this been happening? Five minutes?

I have no idea. Time is irrelevant. I'm all wibbly wobbly. I don't need to know.

I reach for his face again. He's looking down at me, and his throat is there and…there's no good way for me to reach it without standing up on my toes.

And I need to.

And that's when I, Rose Tyler, take the initiative. He staggers as I try to guide him backwards towards Rory's bed. Bed is forward. I know that it is. But Rory doesn't really have other furniture. He doesn't have a couch. Or a futon. He has a desk.

Oh, god.

Pushing David towards the desk instead.

Oh. God.

But no, no. It's way too cluttered and there is… Oh, Rory… there's a bowl of soggy store brand Cheerios and milk there. So, yeah, desk is out.

Gross, Rory.

Bed.

That's my main focus in life.

I have tunnel vision.

He steps on a shoe and catches himself, agile and athletic and I wonder if he does some kind of martial arts or something because feeling him, actually holding him and feeling him against me, he feels lean and hot, and he feels like what I always imagined David would feel like. Yes. This is exactly what I pictured David to feel like. After a months, and months of wondering, now I know.

He's on his back on the bed, I straddle his waist, he looking up at me. And breathing hard.

His glasses are smudged. My nose has smudged them.

"Sorry," I mumble, touching my face to check nuzzling his neck, I want to nip and kiss it.

"For what?" his voice is thick.

His eyes are dark behind smudged glass. I pull off my plastic crown, more looking for something for do with my hands than anything else. It falls behind me on the hardwood floor. This is the most naked I've been with anyone who isn't a physician in an embarrassingly long time. He, meanwhile, is still very dressed.

And I can't move.

I'm frozen.

I was so bold when we were against the wall! I want to go back to the wall. Bed was a poor choice. But, fucking hell, he looks good in bed. I bet he looks even better naked. He shifts then, rolling a little to the left, and digs into his back pocket.

_He's smiling._

_Beautiful—_

_Wait. What is he doing?_

_Is he getting a condom?_

_Does he have a condom in his pocket?_

_Am I ready for a condom?_

_Well, yeah. I think I'm more than ready for a condom._

_But! Oh, god! I can't-_

He pulls out a plastic hypodermic needle out from under himself and shows it to me. Oh. That! He chucks it in the direction of the kitchen and it hits the floor.

"It's actually a pen."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he reaches for my hand, and pulls me forward.

Up his chest and over him.

"Yeah. A red ink pen. Funny, right?"

"Yeah. Hilarious. Because it's a needle. And it's like blood. Which needles are often involved with?"

I'm holding myself up over him. I'm, like, hovering over him.

"That would be the joke, Rose."

I'm planking over him. And shaking a little from the lack of powerful abdominal muscles.

He looks up at me. And I think he smiles.

I feel dizzy.

His hand is against my knee, lightly. Over my dog-scar.

I get bold. Brick-wall bold. I lower my hips, slowly, until I'm pressing against him, pressing him down into the mattress. His body flush against mine.

THAT'S HIS COCK,IT FEELS…

He growls under me, and I feel his mouth, his lips and teeth, and tongue on my throat.

Throat.

I remember the scar on his chin, and on his arm. I lower myself down further, leaning on my elbows instead of my wrists. I am literally covering him. Like, entirely. His head is turned, I kiss his throat, making a path towards the back of his neck.

He groans.

I love that sound, I hope I sound that good.

I hope I don't sound as whiny to him as I do in my head. I sound so wheezy to me. Like the asthmatic kid that I am.

I push up again to look at his face.

His glasses are almost opaque with smudges, it's distracting. Hide the evidence, Rose.

I roll to the side, pinning his thigh under me. His head is resting on the bed, turned towards me, soft brown hair lays flat against his forehead.

Fingers shaking, I carefully take off his glasses, swallowing as they pass under his hair and away from his ears.

He blinks, fast.

I wipe the lenses with the sheet and fold them before reaching behind me to put them on the nightstand.

The nightstand that I know, apparently, is filled with condoms. I turn back to him, and smile. Dumbly.

He's just lying there, staring at me with enormous eyes that look entirely black in the Christmas lights.

"I…" he's frowning. That's not a good sign. His body is stiff. That's a worse sign. "I'm sorry."

My heart barfs into my throat, and my fingers feel like ice, "For what?"

"I thought… I thought I could do this. And then you…" he looks in the direction of the nightstand.

"You-" …but now you know that I'm so much worse at this than you thought I'd be, and now you're ready to pick up your hypodermic and go? And you know now, so no more mystery and you'll be getting your Tea at Starbucks from now on, thanks very much…

"Am I… it's.. Been a long time. I… I think… I'll get better. It's like riding a bike, right? Supposedly. That's what they say… but I haven't been on a bike for a really long time."

"No, it's not you," he pulls back, but holds my face between his two really, incredibly hot hands.

"You're… wonderful, Rose."

"Oh."

"No!" he lets me go, and pulls back further, "Ugh. I'm sorry. My… glasses-"

I grab them and hand them back to him. "Did I do something wrong?"

Like, be born.

He sits up, takes them, puts them on and folds his hands in his lap.

"No. Nothing. I just…" he doesn't look at me, "you don't know anything about me. And I don't-"

"I'd like to. And I'll tell you anything you want to know about me. I'm an open, boring book."

He shakes his head, "I shouldn't have come here. I feel stupid."

He's starting to go.

What did I do? I usually know what I did wrong, at least. Not knowing is so much worse!

"David," oh, god, I wish I was wearing pants, "I… you're right. I don't know anything about you. Not really. But… I like… I mean… I've liked everything I've found out so far and I want to know more. If you'll let me?" And… my voice cracks. Jesus, I'm halfway to thirty. Why am I acting like this ?!

But I look at him, and he so clearly wants to leave.

But, god, I don't want him to.

"I'm…" I'm wearing a dress. I'm re-virginizing as we speak. I'm still not entirely convinced that I didn't crack my head in Rory's dirty bathroom. "I like you. I'd like to… not have sex with you."

"Huh?"

"I mean! I'd like to! Obviously," okay, how about we don't draw attention to the fact I'm really flush right now. More like beet red, "Someday. Maybe. If that… worked out. But, I'd like to… not… right now. And, maybe just…"

"Be friends?"

"Yeah."

No. No! Not friends! Not friends!

"We can… try that."

"Great!" I sound really enthusiastic for something I'm not enthusiastic about at all.

"I still think… maybe I should go…"

"Sun's almost up."

"Yeah… I…"

"Okay," I swallow. Which is really hard to do with a completely dry mouth.

"Let me give you my number," he picks up his phone from the counter, by the coffee pot and two full coffee mugs long gone cold, "What's your number?"

I tell him. He texts me. My phone is still at Harkness'.

"Okay then. I'll… see you."

"Yeah!" I want to cry. "Oh… wait, how will you get home?"

"I'll walk."

"Are you sure-"

"I think I need a long walk," he says, with finality, and a half smile.

"Okay."

He leaves.

And after a really depressing couple of minutes, I pick up my crown, wrap Rory's blanket around myself, and make the low sad climb back up to the roof. I feel like I'm going to cry.

The three of them are still awake, still curled up together. The cat is there too.

At the grim and lonely sight of me, they make room for me in the nest and we silently watch the sun come up in November.

I know I must look really, truly awful because none of them even ask.

Not then, anyway.

OoO

Just when I thought thing couldn't get any worse… it does. Oh does it ever.

To add insult to injury, when Rory drops Amy and me off at our building, the Dragon-Lady is waiting outside.

"Shit," Amy hisses.

It occurs to me that neither one of us is wearing pants.

"Well, well…" she eyes us both, "What have we here."

"Lovely to see you, so bright and early, Cassandra" Amy says dryly.

"Hmm. The building was egged last night," she says, turning away from us, "Pah! Revelry. I came to address that. And yet…"

Why is she so creepy?! Her face looks like a flat pancake.

"You have a visitor, it seems," she steps towards me. It is very early for that much eyeliner on a woman that age.

"A… visitor?"

Is David here? He doesn't know where I live.

"A young man," her penciled eyebrows arch, "who it seems slept on your porch. I asked if he'd seen the eggers. He did not. He was surprisingly unhelpful."

I hurry past her.

It's fine! He came here and he's waiting for me and I'm going to kiss him and say, "I don't want to be your friend! I want to have sex with you!"

"Hello, Rose."

…the fuck?! No, no, no it can't be…

I literally skid to a halt.

"Your Mum told me where you lived. I… didn't have anywhere else to go. Your porch is… very comfortable."

I hear Amy sneaking up behind me.

But I only see red. My heart is racing, this can't be happening.

"What… the hell are you doing here, Jimmy?"

oOo

I think I'm broken.

I think I need to go to sleep. I'm too old to stay awake this long. And also, my lip hurts. I think my lip is bruised. I think David is an amazing kisser and I did something stupid and wrong and he left, but not before bruising my lip. And I'm horny. And confused. And the former love of my life, psycho ex just got out of jail, and is downstairs sitting on my couch with my dog watching the telly. Because that's totally something that happens to people all the time, right? I'm sitting on Amy's incredibly comfortable bed and staring, dazed, at a picture of her and Rory and a… dolphin.

Well that's weird.

They're weird people.

Weird though she may be, she really took care of things downstairs. I just kind of gaped.

I don't want to be maudlin and say that he broke my heart. But. I think my heart was decidedly more whole before that afternoon that he drove me home from work, and we argued over his failing mental health. Things with Jimmy were not always bad, we had a lot of good times. I loved him. He was kind and compassionate, but he got sick. And I know it's an excuse and I should kick him out or call the police, but it's been five years, and while in jail he's been on medication. He says that he's better and when I looked at him I saw the old Jimmy. I don't want him back, that not even a little bit, but he has nowhere else to go.

So, now I'm here at Amy's and I can't think straight.

Downstairs, Amy had pried my keys out of my hand and let him inside and, at my mumbled request from the doorway, she let Mickey in, then dragged me up to her apartment. She texted Rory, then bolted for the shower, where she was now. I flop back on the bed and immediately feel like I'm falling asleep. I'm old. And tired. And I can hear my TV.

Can she always hear my TV?

Oh, god, I hope not.

Something hard digs into my back through the comforter. I fish it out. It's definitely a Han Solo belt, blaster in a holster and everything.

They're so weird.

I crawl up to the pillows and lay face down. The sound of the shower is soothing, like a white noise machine. Like a babbling brook. Maybe when I wake up, he'll be gone, and the David situation will fix itself and I'll be wearing pants. I'm mostly asleep when I hear keys at the door. And then Rory is there.

"When it rains it pours, huh?"

"Is it raining?" I don't lift my head.

"Something like that. Maybe it's hail."

I feel him sit on the edge of the bed, and the edge of the belt brushes my bare leg, "Oh, hey! I wondered where this was!"

"Where else could it be?" I ask, my voice muffled by the pillows. The shower turns off. Amy comes out. She smells like warm vanilla.

"I had to get her out of there. I didn't know what else to do. She just shut down. It was like she was a robot and her battery died!"

Vanilla is nice. Amy always smells so good.

"So… he's just down there alone right now?"

"Yeah. He slept on her porch!"

"Yikes," Rory pats my calf, "yikes."

"And… he's giving the lost puppy look," she sits on the bed too.

"What an arse!" Rory sounds horrified.

"Yeah, I could hardly look at him either! I felt like I should take him in and feed him hot soup or something."

I roll over, careful to adjust my dress, and look at them. She's wrapped in a towel that's a little too small for that purpose, her hair wet on her shoulders. I'm not into women, but I'll be damned if she isn't beautiful. Even more so like this, with all the make-up washed off. I've never seen her like this before.

"What do you want to do, Rosie?"

Vanilla is happiness.

"I think I want French Toast."

Rory looks at Amy, "Do you have any food?"

"No, not really. I have whipped cream."

"Ugh," I lay back down, "of course you do."

"Don't knock it till you try it, Rosie," she says gently.

"Okay," Rory says calmly, "how about this? Amy and I will go to the store, get what we need to make breakfast, you meanwhile stay here, and sleep, and… maybe take a shower, and then we'll make French Toast and figure out what our next move is."

"Our?"

"Yours, really. But…" he smiles, "we signed on to be your Wingmen. That's a commitment."

I feel a warm and fuzzy knot in my gut, and for a second, I think about asking both of them to just stay here and sleep on either side of me. I imagine being a big spoon and a little spoon at the same time would be extra amazing.

But… the lure of French Toast is too strong.

"Okay."

"If you want to borrow some clothes, they should fit. Might be a little snug around the chest."

"Thanks, Amy."

I drag myself up, feeling like I am literally a million years old. While Amy gets dressed, I avert my eyes and grab a pair of pants and a shirt out of the drawer and go into the bathroom, standing on the wet footprints she left on the mat by the shower while the water heats up.

Despite everything, I'm still unbearably horny. It's embarrassing. I war with myself for a little while under the slightly too hot water about the ethics of rubbing one out in a friend's shower… but… I mean, if I was ever going to do it, I figure Amy's shower is the most acceptable. She'd understand.

I hardly think about anything, but, mostly about David, and the way that he felt.

And also, how he smelled.

And tasted.

And sounded.

And, god, I hope I get to feel, smell, taste and hear him like that again. Soon. Before never.

When I come out, they're gone. I'm wearing Amy's pants and her shirt, which are both admittedly too snug and too short. The place is quiet, except for the muffled sound of my TV through the floor.

I fall on the bed, burrow under the covers, and am asleep in about two seconds.

I wake up to a warm hand on the center of my back and look up to find a glass of orange juice (generously spiked) hovering near my face. I smell the sweet and alluring scent of the mountain of French toast heaped on a plate in the center of Amy's kitchen table.

"Thanks, Rory."

"I stopped by Harkness' and grabbed your stuff," he says, walking over to the table and sitting down. Amy is spraying a lot of whipped cream onto her toast.

"Did you get my phone?!"

He nods, sipping coffee from a chipped college mug. My phone is on top of my neatly folded shawl on a chair. I have six missed calls, three of them from my mum. But more than that. So much more than that. I have two new texts. From a number I have yet to enter into my phone.

The first:

**Body:**

**David.**

I save his number immediately.

"Come on, Rose, your toast is getting cold. And eaten," Amy scoots the third chair back from the table with her foot.

The second text, sent at 6:07 am:

**From: David.**

**Body:**

**I can't stop thinking about you.**

_Okay._

_This is… less of a disaster than I thought._

_Maybe not a disaster at all._

_I mean… apart from the Jimmy part._

_Damn him._


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you everyone who has reviewed and follow/favorite, it's wonderful hearing everyone thoughts on the chapters. Sorry I haven't responded to reviews last chapter, I've had a very busy and stressful week. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

First step, which is perfectly logical, is to find out why he's here.

After five years.

Rory kept the spiked OJ's coming. I'm a little warm in the face. But I'd probably be a little warm in the face regardless. At least this way, I'm also slightly anesthetized.

Jimmy is sitting on the couch, with Mickey's head in his lap.

"He's enormous," he says, looking over the back of the couch at me, "I remember when I got him for you. He was just a wee little runt."

Mickey snuffs heavily, as if knowing that he's the topic of conversation.

"So…" I move no further into the room, "what's the deal, Jimmy?"

"Ah. The deal?"

He turns back, facing away from me and I stare at his neck. It's weird how something so familiar at one time can all of a sudden be familiar again after years of not being… anything. I remember freckles, for god's sake. Individual neck freckles. And there they are.

"We were happy together, once," he says, quietly, scratching Mickey behind the ears, "Do you remember?"

I don't say anything. I refuse to say anything. Even if I did have anything to say, it's been a hell of alot easier to remember how miserable I was at the end than any of the times we were happy.

"You were my best friend," he says, and stands up, facing me with the couch between us. "I met a woman."

And that sent your hurtling back to the porch of your former girlfriend because…

But I say, "Oh?"

"The woman I met… well, I met her before I went to jail. I…she waited for me. I can't… I."

How, exactly, am I expected to take him seriously at all when he's standing there pretty much telling me the night he completely was off his rocker, he was also cheating on me.

"I made vow to you, I miss you, Rose."

I laugh. I can't help it.

It's too ridiculous.

"Oh, did you?!"

"Yes, I know things got bad, that I did things that I'm not proud of. But I can see clearly now. I've changed, I'm better, Rose."

Totally serious. He's totally serious! The same man who once literally lost his mind and almost beat me half to death. The same man who thought that every time I went to work that I was cheating on him.

"Okay. Great. Congratulations?"

"No… you don't understand me, Rose. I'm here, because… I don't know what to do anymore."

"Okay."

"I thought I knew. I was going to get out of jail, and ask her to marry me. I don't know now."

"So you're living with her?"

"No. I'm-"

"Okay, let me get this straight, you don't know what to do; you've spent the last five years in jail for almost killing me, and two cops. Yet the whole time you've been with another woman?" He flinched at that, serves him right. "So you came back here, to me, because…"

"Because you are the only person who ever really made me happy."

Well, there it is.

"…and I can't go back to her until I know for sure."

Oh. I see.

"Is this like... your way of saying sorry?"

"Yeah."

"And... you need somewhere to stay?"

He smiles, uh, half smiles.

"I was hoping…"

I cringe.

"Why don't you go and stay with my mum? You two clearly have something special."

"Oh," he looks down, "I suppose… I could."

"I don't think you staying here is a good idea," my chest tightens a little at the look he gives me when he lifts his head.

"Why? Is there… someone?"

Jealous!

"Yes," I'm already regretting this, "There is."

"Jackie said that there wasn't. That there hasn't been. Not since…"

Jesus Christ, mother!

Seriously, though, stop looking at me like that!

I swear it's like… His eyes are following me.

"Well. She doesn't know."

"Oh."

"It's new. He's new."

"I see," he steps closer to me. He needs a shower, but he still smells like Jimmy. Which is a good smell. A good smell that I hate. He looks at my lip. "Did he do that to you?"

And now I'm uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. And he's using his sexy voice. Not an interrogative voice, or an accusatory voice and definitely not an angry voice.

"Y-yes."

There is an immediate banging on my door, and the doorbell. Mickey goes ballistic.

Thank god.

I peel away from him and jog to the door. Amy is there, pounding on the window by the door with an open hand.

Oh, Wingmen, you're so good at-

I open the door.

There's blood on her shirt.

"Jesus!"

I feel a little faint. That's more than a little blood.

"Rory's slit his wrist!"

"What?!"

"Oh, stop it," I look up. He's slumped on the banister, easing his way down the steps, clutching a kitchen towel to his arm and, I'm a little dizzy, bleeding a lot. "I'm not suicidal. I want to live. And I also want Amy to not put knives in the drying rack pointy side up."

Okay. Okay. BLOOD. Okay.

"Drive us to the hospital?!" Amy goes over to him, and he leans on her.

Oh, god, he's pale. BLOOD.

"Can I help?"

Jimmy gently pushes by me, and goes to Rory, gripping his bleeding arm, "Rose's afraid of blood," he says gently.

"Jesus Christ!" Rory is staring at, well, at Jimmy.

"It's deep, yeah," Jimmy looks over his shoulder at me, "Bring your car around, Rosie."

I mumble something and bring my car around front.

I open the back door and Jimmy helps ease Rory in, not letting go of his arm. Amy gets into the passenger seat and turns to look back at him.

The drive to the hospital is a blur.

"Amy, I think I'm dying."

"Ugh. You're not dying!"

"I'm not a religious man…"

"Rory, shut up," she genuinely doesn't believe him, about the death bit. He is managing to get a goodly amount of blood on my seat, though, and looking a little peaked in the rear-view mirror.

"If I die… I want you to know that I've always-"

"Do shut up, Rory," she says curtly, reaching back to pat his knee.

Feeling like something from a movie, I pull into the emergency room bay.

Aren't they supposed to run out to my car? They run out in movies? I've seen ER. I have a man bleeding to death in my backseat! Run, nurses!

No one comes to the car. I follow as Jimmy and Amy guide Rory through the doors and up to the check-in desk.

"RORY?!"

"Alonzo!"

Alonzo's there in scrubs, and very quickly whisks Rory away.

"Ma'am?" the woman at the desk looks up at me, "you need to move your car."

"When can we go back with him?" I ask, looking at her nametag, "Miss Redfern."

"We'll let you know. But, really, you have to move your car."

"I've got it. Give me your keys, Rose."

Jimmy takes my keys with bloody hands and goes out through the doors.

"You okay?" I ask Amy.

"I feel pretty bad, actually. Can you imagine if I'd accidentally killed him?"

She sounds so near tears that I'm taken aback. I pull her into a hug.

"I mean... I've never met anyone else who gives head as good as him! I don't think I ever will again."

I laugh, and squeeze her, "Is that what you'd put on his gravestone - 'Here Lies Rory; He Gave Great Head.'"

She replies, maudlin, "It's what he would want."

"He's going to be fine," I let her go and realize too late that she's gotten blood all over my shirt. Or, rather, her borrowed shirt. Today just isn't my day. I feel dizzy. "So you…"

She looks at me. There's blood on her cheek.

"You guys didn't do this on purpose? Not a wingman thing?"

She punches me in the arm, hard. Her fist is so bony! I groan. Nurse Redfern looks up at us, irritated.

"No! You mean, did we sit upstairs and say, 'Gee… poor Rose needs our help, oh here's a knife I've got an idea'? No!"

"Okay, okay! Sorry I asked. I just… I mean…"

"God, flatter yourself much?" she looks at me, still pissed, "It was an accident. Why? Was it good timing?"

There is still a lot of blood on her shirt and I feel my vision go black at the edges a little. "Yeah, actually."

"Well," she folds her arms, "I'm sure he'll appreciate that."

We go sit in the waiting room.

I have the strongest urge to text David and tell him where I am. Which is stupid, of course, because… I mean… why should he be the one I tell. I do text Clara, who rushes over immediately with a clean shirt for Amy.

Jimmy stays with us. He is very attentive.

I keep scowling at him without meaning to. I'm just so suspicious of his motives. Part of me wants to believe that he is legitimately just being one of those overly nice, helpful guys… and the other part of me can't help but feel that it's all a show. Like, 'Oh, look at how great I am at dealing with difficult situations. Remember how I always took care of these things? Remember that, Rose?'

At any rate, we wait for a long time. I finally send him home to check on Mickey and feed him.

I then text David. Because, you know what, I want to. The smell of the ER is making me feel sick. And I want to text him. I get a response almost immediately.

From: David

Body:

what's up?

I look at Amy and Clara.

I text back, "I'm at the ER it's a long wait."

From: David

Body:

What?! Are u ok? I'll be right there.

Clara gives me an encouraging little smile, which is just what she does, even without knowing that I'm about to hit send on a text that just says, "yes. Please come."

When I was in high school, I took my friend to the emergency room when he "accidentally" swallowed a tumbler of Indian ink. He was a mess like that… always. And always over a girl. That one was…

Lily? I think? I don't remember anymore. She was transferring and he was distraught. Hence, the ink.

Anyway, at sixteen, as I sat in the waiting room while they pumped his inky, melancholy stomach, I had my first panic attack. It wasn't that I was particularly worried about him. I didn't really even like him that much. I didn't want him to die but… anyway the root of my panic attack was not because of my friend.

It was my dad.

I hate hospitals. I hate that the smell and the lighting always bring me back to that night no matter how long it's been, or how far away from that particular hospital I am.

I hate that the longer I stay in a hospital, the more and more likely a panic attack happening is.

I don't want to say anything to Amy or Clara, both of whom look frazzled enough as it is.

But really… between the blood and the hospital smell and Jimmy and…

Breathe, Rose. Breathe.

Nope. It's just getting worse. Breathing isn't going to help. We're past breathing.

I feel cold in the face and hot in the neck. I wipe my hands on my pants.

I just need to stand up. I just need-

That night in the ER with my friend, I had called Jimmy from a payphone. He hadn't picked up until the third try. By that time, he was home, in Edinburgh, and obviously couldn't get on a plane and magically fly there between us and sit in the ER waiting room with me. But he had talked to me until I ran out of quarters. That's when we were new, when things were really good, before he got sick.

And then, about five minutes after that, I'd passed out.

I stand up. Both of them look at me.

"I just need to… walk around," I feel like I'm underwater. My voice doesn't sound like me.

Breathe.

As I walk towards the doors, they open.

David.

David's there in front of me, with a massive brown equipment bag, and another guy is beside him, who look's kind of like the Badger from the Halloween party.

"Hey!" he says, spotting me. I see him look at my chest, which is bloody.

BLOOD.

"ROSE!"

I can't breathe. I can't hear.

"I…"

I feel a hand on my arm, one around my waist.

I don't know if you've ever seen a woman faint, but it's nothing like the kind of fainting that women in corsets do in movies. I fall, like a sack of bricks.

Oh, god, I don't want to pass out. I really, really don't.

"Rose, what happened? Are you alright? Talk to me."

His fingers are cool on my neck, he's taking my pulse. I keep forgetting he's a Doctor.

"I need to go outside."

I think I say this. I can't hear, so I'm not—

"David, do you want me to get a wheelchair? I can get a nurse." The guy that looks like the Badger, with the floppy hair said with a hint of panic in his voice, I must really look awful.

"No, we're fine Matt, just help me get her outside."

So Badger guy's name is Matt, I wonder if Clara knows? Another arm is around my waist, and we head out the door.

Air.

I smell air, smoggy, hot asphalt-smelling parking lot air… but air nonetheless.

And I'm sitting. On something. Something hard.

David pushes me forward, my head between my knees.

"Breathe."

I don't know which one of us says it. I can see again, after a minute or two. I look up.

"Hey," he's dumped his brown bag on the bench I'm sitting on carefully next to my leg. Watching him do this, a process, is kind of comforting. He rubs my back slowly, it feels good, and gives me something to focus on.

"You okay?"

I nod.

"Here," he pulls a bottle of water out of the brown bag.

I drink.

He's not touching me anymore, but standing close next to his friend, they look a lot alike, I wonder if their related? He's also, I notice, offering me a modicum of dignity by looking out at the parking lot and not at me being a sweaty, bloody shaking disaster.

Yup. I'm handling this is the finest Rose Tyler fashion. Suave. Debonair. Mysterious. Sweaty.

I groan and dip forward again, dumping some of the bottled water on the back of my neck.

"Hey!" he moves fast, around me, jerking his bag out of the way of the water, "Careful!"

"Oh, shit! Sorry!" I stand up, which, Okay, wow, is a terrible idea.

I'm gonna pass out.

"Hey, easy now," he's there again, easing me back onto the bench, "Sit."

I sit.

"Sorry…"

"It's… okay. You didn't hit it," he shoves it all to the far end of the bench and then sits next to me, "just some of the stuff in there is really expensive."

"Sorry-"

"Rose," he snaps, "I said don't worry about it."

Perfect. Just exactly how I wanted this to go.

"I, uh, I'll go inside see how Rose's friends are, unless you need me to stay here?" Badger said sounding really uncomfortable.

"It's okay Matt, I can take care of her.."

He nods but quickly heads back into the hospital, as if he can't get away from me fast enough. Can't say that I blame him.

We sit quietly for a while.

"So… what happened?"

"Rory cut his wrist. Accidentally," I add, at his sideways glance, "He was talking the whole way over though. I think he's fine."

"Your shirt," he says, leaning forward, "That's…"

"Yeah. Not paint," I pluck it away from my chest. Buh. Gotta stop looking!

"That's a lot of blood," he rolls his head back, scrunching his nose, "I have an extra shirt in my bag…" he smirks, "But I don't think it'd fit you."

"Probably not."

"You can wear it anyways, it's better than a blood soaked shirt."

"Thanks." I don't want to think of my bloody shirt. "So, your friend…"

"Oh, yeah. That's my Brother Matt, sorry I didn't introduce you. I was worried, didn't think…"

"You were worried about me?"

He is worried about me! This is good right, worry is good.

He smiles.

"Of course I am worried about you, I get a text saying you're at the hospital. Then when I get here you're covered in blood, and look like you're going to pass out."

"Sorry about that."

"So… if Rory's probably fine, what happened back there?"

"Oh, that?" I wince, "That was a panic attack. I hate hospitals."

"Oh."

Yep. That's all he's getting right now.

"What time is it?" I ask.

He pulls his iphone out of his bag and slides it on.

I see his background.

The picture of my foam leaf.

"Uhh… 5:10."

"Th-thanks."

My leaf.

"You okay?" he puts it away.

"Yeah… just… been here a long ass time."

"You hungry?"

"What?"

"Your hands…" shaking, yes, nerves of steal, "I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, if you…"

"Rose!"

We both turn to see Clara coming through the glass doors.

"Oh, there you are! I didn't know where you went! Are you okay? You're all wet. And you disappeared and then Matt shows up out of nowhere. Oh," she falters, and kind of does a weird sweeping motion with her arms, looking like someone keeping a secret in a seventh grade play, and stiffly says, "Oh, hello, David."

"Hello."

"Hey Clara, did you know that David and your Badger are brothers?"

Clara looks at David confused for a moment, then her eyes light up. "Oh, you're Matt's brother? He mentioned he had two brothers, I just didn't know it was you."

David looks at me with a confused expression. "Badger?"

"The Halloween party, he was dressed up as a Badger. I… didn't know his name."

"A married Badger," she frowns and I feel so bad for her, Clara is almost as bad as I am when it comes to men. She really liked him, it's too bad really.

"Ah, yeah," David looks at Clara and shifts uncomfortably. "That's right, I forgot both my brothers were night."

"I, uh…" Clara shifts, awkwardly, then looks at me, "that nurse, Alonzo… very handsome, isn't he? I like his ears. Anyway, he came out and said that Rory is fine and that we should be able to take him home in about an hour or so."

"Oh, great! Fantastic!"

"Amy's with him now. She wanted me to ask…" she looks at David, and then back at me, and then back at David, "if, uh, well, my car is small. I can probably fit everyone in… but it'll be a squeeze. But, is… your guest coming back with your car?"

Please, Clara, I really need you to try and make this sound even more suspicious.

But more to the point…

oh, fuck.

He might come back.

I hadn't even considered it.

I just wanted David.

And I didn't want Jimmy.

Poor Jim-

What?! No! He hurt me, broke my heart!

I fish my phone out of my pocket, and open it up.

I still have his number… of course I do… but I don't think he has a phone. Why else would he have just slept on the porch?

I call my own landline, hoping he'll answer.

David is watching me.

Why do I feel the need to sneak away and make this call?

"Hello?"

"Ji… Hey," I stand up, and step across the loading bay, "it's me."

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Oh, yeah, they said we could take him in about an hour."

"Great, I'll-"

"Oh, no. Don't. Don't worry about it. Clara… our friend Clara is here. She's got a big car. Don't worry about it."

"Oh. Okay. I um… I tried to clean your upholstery."

Oh, god, Jimmy.

"You… didn't have to do that."

"I don't mind," he says softly.

Who is this incredibly nice person and what has he done with that selfish git Jimmy Stone?

I look over my shoulder. Clara is standing and talking to David as he starts to put the water away. That can't be good.

"Anyway, I uh… I guess in terms of lodging…" he trails off, leading, then finally says, "I guess I can go to a motel."

"Just…" I sigh, "Stay there, tonight. On the couch. Then after that… maybe go stay with my mum. She's looking for a border."

"Oh. Right. Sure. That'll be…" I can hear him force a smile, "Nice."

"Great. Okay. Bye, Jimmy."

"Bye, Rosie."

Really wish he'd stop calling me that.

I go back over to David and Clara.

"I guess now, we just wait. More."

He shrugs, "Okay."

I'm not going to force it. He came. And… I feel better with him here.

Less in need of a fainting couch.

I'm sure a large part of that is the air.

But…

He looks up at me.

He came. To the emergency room.

"I hate hospitals, too," he says as we walk through the doors, "I generally try to avoid them. Unless I have to work, if they are short Doctors."

"Me too. Well not the working part."

He smiles at me, and I feel a lot better. Amazingly better, he really has that effect on me.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Holy cow, you all are wonderful and fantastic people. I've also gotten a lot of Matt/Clara love. I think they are cute together. Also as you have all likely guessed, he's married to River of course. I just want to make this clear. I love River, she's awesome so whatever happens with her in this story. *If anything.* Does not reflect how I feel about her character. This chapter is NSFW! Smut ahead. I just wanted to give the warning if you wish to skip it, it's close to the end of the chapter. I have been so crazy busy. I've been wanting to get this chapter up sooner, and respond to all the amazing reviewers. Thank you. If I don't get to you, it doesn't mean I don't appreciate you all. Lets be honest, Reviews really help brighten a persons day. Good or bad. Enjoy!**

* * *

"I nearly died. I'm not kidding. I was at the pearly gates. I saw the face of God."

Like a kid that just been released after getting his appendix removed, we offer Rory whatever he wanted for dinner.

He answered, without hesitation, Strax. It's an American style burger place with really big booth tables that I've never been to before. When we walked in, the proprietor greeted us and showed great interest in Rory's thickly bandaged wrist.

"Did you really?" Strax sets another basket of fries in the center of the table.

"Well…" Rory smiles, reaching with his uninjured hand for fries, "No. No to the dying bit. But I did see the face of God."

"Jesus," I say, quietly.

"One in the same, right? Kind of? Sort of?" Rory shrugs, then says to Strax, "Your cook makes the best burgers I've ever eaten, by the way."

"Yes, she's got a gift," he says, chest puffing proudly, before checking cherry Coke levels one last time.

"Is it going to be a big scar, do you think, Rory?" Clara asks, swirling the straw in her milk shake.

"Probably. But, Alonzo said that the doctor who did my stitches is one of the best. Dr. Jones. She's really hot, but," he winks at Clara, "I think if someones stitching your arm closed you don't really want them distracted by captivating conversation, right?"

"It's a shame that Doctor Mccrimmon wasn't there. Unbelievably good looking, that man," Amy says, taking the cherry from her Coke and dropping it into Rory's.

"Isn't he an OB/GYN?" Rory asks.

"Well… sure."

"You just like him because he's Scottish too…" Rory shakes his head.

"Mccrimmon? Why does that name sound familiar" I grab napkins.

"Jamie's father is the chief of medicine," David answers. I look at him, he's been awfully quiet sitting next to me, and he adds, "He used to talk about it. A lot, when I was working there."

"You worked at the hospital?" Amy asked, "I didn't know that you're a Doctor."

"Well, I am. Sort of. I mean. I'm still a Doctor, I just don't work at the hospital much anymore." David respond seemingly nervous about the question.

"Why did you quit?" Rory asks taking a bite from his burger.

"He didn't really quit," Matt said grinning sheepishly at his Brother. "He left with some bloke to 'find' himself, then when he got himself into trouble he called me to bail him out."

"You didn't 'bail' me out of anything, and I came back because I was tired of listening to you whine about how horrible your life was becoming with River."

I think all the blood drained from Matt's face. It's almost as pale as Rory's on the ride to the Hospital, he fidgets in his seat beside Clara. He doesn't want to look at her, but she's staring at him. Maybe there's a chance for Clara yet? Matt seems like a good guy, and Clara needs someone good.

"Right then, you've made your point," Matt mumbles and is now more interested in the fries on his plate than anything else.

David snorts shaking his head. Even mad he's adorable.

"Well that wasn't awkward at all," Rory laughs leaning against Amy nuzzling her neck.

He's in much higher spirits than I would be if it had been me bleeding profusely and getting stitched up. I'd also mostly likely just want to be taken home so that I could burrow under the covers and watch TV and dwell on my own mortality. But, I obviously border on recluse-like tendencies sometimes… so… there's that.

David's quiet now, Matt and Clara are talking in quietly amongst themselves, and I can't make out what they're saying.

Rory had been quite insistent that they at least join us for a meal. I'm trying to convince myself that his quietness isn't a bad sign and just that, really, it's been tough to get a word in edgewise for any of us with Rory going on, and on…

"You know what movie I just re-watched the other day when I should have been working? Jaws," his hair is down and tucked behind his ears... and a little bloody. There is blood everywhere. Thank god

Strax is empty except for us. It's just not normal for people to go walking around lightly but thoroughly splattered in blood.

"Scar stories!" he says, as Strax brings another round of Cokes, "Let's hear them! Around the table… your Best Of!"

"Like that scene in Chasing Amy?" Amy asks, re-tucking some of his bloody hair with a grimace.

"Yeah. Which was an homage of the scene in Jaws."

"But sexual."

"Yes. Oh… do you want to do sexual scar-"

"No," I cut him off.

Out of the corner or my eye, I see David smirk before taking a bite.

There is a swipe of mustard on his hand, and I have a mad vivid flash of leaning over and just licking it off. I really like mustard. Spicy Brown Mustard. I'd put it on everything if I could. I... I just really like mustard.

"I'll go first. This aside," Rory lifts his wrist, then lowers it, and lifts his bloody t-shirt, "Open heart surgery, when I was a kid."

The scar is faint, but long. I didn't even notice it before. He lowers his shirt, then looks at Amy expectantly. There's a fair amount of appreciative nodding around the table.

"Hmmm…" she thinks, squinting into the middle distance, "Oh!" She pulls the shoulder of her borrowed sweater down her shoulder, revealing a puckered mark, "Eighth Grade. P.E. This disgusting little boy shot me in the shoulder with an arrow during archery. Hurt like a bitch. Clara?"

"Oh… I don't really have anything that exciting," she looks down at herself, then lifts the heel of her hand, "I broke a mirror. A very old, very expensive mirror. Cut my hand trying to put it back together. It bled and bled."

"Did you ever put it back together?" Amy asks, eyebrow arching.

"No… it was impossible," she sighs.

We all look at Matt, he runs his fingers through his floppy hair holding it flat. There's a long scar along his hairline, then disappears into his hair. It looked really bad, I don't even want to think how far it goes.

"It happened at school, I was about six David pushed me off the climber."

"I did not, I was nowhere near you when that happened you git."

Matt laughs it seems to like teasing David, it reminds me a lot of Tony and I when we argue. But Tony has never lied to just piss me off before.

"Rose?"

Dog scar. Totally go with that one again.

Then I feel my face go red. Because… less than twenty-four hours ago, we were on the roof, and

David touched it.

This has been a big twenty-four hours.

I lower my pant leg, but not before feeling David's body heat next to me, on suddenly my exposed skin.

I look at Rory, who waggles his eyebrows at me quickly before looking at David.

"David?"

I swallow.

Oh, god. Too personal. Godammit, Rory! I know you're… I know that something's going on in that bloody head of yours… but-

He's incredibly still for a painful couple of seconds, then, keeping his gaze locked on Rory as if accepting a challenge he wipes his hands with a napkin before unbuttoning two shirt buttons, pulling the neck of his shirt far enough to show the back of his shoulder.

His beautiful, warm, smooth shoulder… and of course there are scars there that I've never seen before… so… close… they are everywhere…

He twists in the booth.

"What is that?" Rory leans forward, smiling softly at me.

"My Brother Chris stabbed me in the back," David says, flatly.

"What?!" Amy crawls forward to look closer, "With a knife?"

He laughs, "Pair of scissors. We were kids. We played... rough in our house."

He shifts back, re-buttons, and finishes his burger. Smirking at Matt who snorted in response.

**OoO**

"I'm cold," I hear Rory's teeth chattering. I normally have layers to spare, but not today.

We're standing at the curb waiting for Clara and to bring her car around, Matt took off early, something about his wife, while Amy and David wait for Strax to wrap up leftovers. He threw in some 'extra' leftovers on the house.

I put my arm around his shoulders instead. He's shivering.

It's not that cold.

"You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah. Totally fine." Liar. "So… he came to the ER, huh?"

"He did."

He smiles up at me. Shit, he looks tired.

"I'm glad. Wingman Rule Number Five; Everything is an Opportunity. Including the Emergency Room."

"I had a panic attack."

"Smooth, Rose. And, hey, I appreciate the concern but there was no need to get apoplexic about me."

I laugh, "Yeah…"

"But… he stayed?"

I nod.

"You are very warm."

"I know."

Clara pulls up just about the same time the door opens behind us.

We turn together. David's carrying two large plastic grocery bags. He hands one to me, which I take as

Amy pulls Rory against herself.

"You coming, David?" Rory asks, turning to look over Amy's shoulder as they walk to the car.

"No. I, uh, I live nearby," he looks at me, "calling it an early night."

"Okay. Night."

"Night. Glad you didn't… die."

Rory laughs, and the two of them disappear into the backseat.

"Hey-"

"Well-"

We talk at the same time. Adorable.

"Thanks. For… coming?" I rub the back of my neck with my free hand.

"Sure. Yeah. No… I mean… I was really worried when you messaged. I thought…" he shrugs, "I'm just glad you're alright."

"Good."

Good...

But… tomorrow is Thursday! Thursday-Special Thursday.

"I'll… uh… see you."

"Yeah. And, hey… you know, text me when you want to… if you still want to…"

Picture. He wants to take my picture. With his camera. And my face.

"I… yeah, I will."

"Okay. Well," he ducks his head and shifts the bag a little.

"Night."

I want to hug him. Or... no. I want to kiss him. Kiss him stupid. But... I'm not that mental. Right? And anyway, after someone sees you have a panic attack, certainly that puts you at the level of hugging goodbye, right? Hugging is reasonable.

But there's all that equipment.

And three sets of endearingly over-involved eyes no doubt glued to us.

I lift my hand.

Or, rather, my hand lifts itself.

I can see it moving.

I have no control over it.

Arm!

I pat his shoulder.

Pat. Pat. Pat.

Three times.

Awkward as shit.

He looks at my hand.

"Sorry," I turn, "Night, David."

Inside, sitting in the front seat. Clara's car smells like cake. We sit in total silence.

He turns and starts walking home, his face lit from beneath by his phone.

And then… gone.

"Oh, Rosie," Amy says sadly, leaning forward as much as she can with Rory's legs over hers, "The upside is that he keeps coming back for more of… whatever the hell it is that you're doing."

**OoO**

We put away the leftovers, and then sit around at Rory's place. The three of them are on the bed. I sit in his office chair. That bed… I'm not ready to come in direct contact with it again. Amy is combing her fingers through his hair while the rest of us pick through a little pile of Halloween candy he's acquired somewhere.

Clara yawns.

We should get going.

I've got… Jimmy.

And work in the morning.

But mostly, there's a good-Samaritan version of Jimmy sleeping on my couch.

"I think-"

There's a knock at the door.

Amy gets up and opens it.

It's Alonzo.

"Oh. Hey."

"Hey."

I glance at Clara, who ignores me and is staring openly at Alonzo who, admittedly, is really wearing those scrubs.

"Clara," I clear my throat and stand, "I think… I'm really tired."

"What? Oh, yes. I'm sure." She gives Rory a quick hug, drawing his attention from Alonzo and I, Amy standing in the doorway with a start.

"Feel better, Rory."

"I think I will, yeah."

We go to the door.

Amy looks at Rory.

"I guess I'll-"

"No. Please," I've not been seduced by Rory. I've witnessed various stages of his seduction of others, out in the field. I've observed it. I'm standing next to Amy as he's lying there, leaning back on the pillows, legs spread, bandaged wrist lying across his belly… as he looks at her first, and then at Alonzo, who is standing on the other side of me… I feel something like seduction-whiplash, "stay."

It's pretty intense. I blush. How does he do that?

Amy smiles, "You need two people to take care of you tonight, Tiger?"

Alonzo's coat is coming off.

"I'm wounded," he smiles, lifting his wrist.

"Okay, Clara, time to go!" I push her gently.

"But-"

"It's past our bedtime."

"Oh. Oh! All right…" she lets me guide her out, begrudgingly, looking back until the door closes with a soft click behind us.

**OoO**

It's a really quiet morning.

Kind of weirdly quiet, actually.

Harkness' is… empty.

Rory's not even here. Rory's always here.

Did the Rapture happen?

I mean, okay… I know that's stupid. But… I think about it.

There is literally no one in the shop.

No one outside on the street.

No one at the bus stop across the street.

No one.

I go over to Rory's table and wipe it down, again, even though nothing's even touched it since the last time I did this five minutes ago.

Rapture? Zombie outbreak? Everyone's fled to nuclear bomb shelters and no one told me about the bomb and I'm about to turn into a mutant?

I'm going to go with the last one.

Because, definitely, I'm going to be the one that turns into a mutant.

I watch red and orange leaves blow across the empty sidewalk through the window.

Am I 'I am Legend'?

Oh, god. I do have a dog.

Oh, god, no! It doesn't end well for the dog! Mickey!

I don't want to be 'I Am Legend'-

The door opens.

I just about have a heart attack.

"David! Where is everybody?"

He's breathing heavy, standing there in the doorway and, fuck, he's beautiful with the morning light behind him. How does a person have skin that perfect in real life?

He pulls the strap of his messenger bag over his head in a fluid motion and walks towards me, dropping the bag on the way.

"Shut up," he growls, backing me up against the table, "Just stop talking."

"I-"

He grabs my jaw, hard, his fingers hot and rough.

Oh fuck.

He pushes himself between my legs, his hips between my thighs.

"You talk too fucking much," he's holding my face level with his and, I can't breathe, studying me with brown eyes blown dark, like a wolf. His breath is hot and sweet, and I can taste him as I breathe.

"Dav-"

He pulls me, hard, and his mouth efficiently shuts me up. He guides my head, fingers strong and winding tight in my hair, and it hurts.

Don't stop.

God… his lips are perfect.

His tongue…

I'm shaking.

His tongue brushes, hot and wet, across my bottom lip. I gasp into his mouth as his teeth close, hard.

I'm dying. My heart—

I'm just going to keel over.

Wait, what are we doing?!

His hands drop to my hips, pulling me closer to him, and, fuck, he's there against me. Hard.

I don't care what we're doing. Please don't stop, please-

I haven't forgotten what he felt like, before, in Rory's bed. He's powerful. His whole body. Tight. Hard.

Fuck. He's…

Hard. So hard. I'm so-

He pulls away from me, and we both gasp, pant. He's untying the bow at the front of my apron.

His fingers are fucking gorgeous.

I want them.

I want them everywhere.

He pulls hard, and I'm untied. He lifts the neck over my head, catching my ears.

He smiles.

Wolf.

I grab his hand, and he looks at me his eyes are black… do I look like that, too? I feel hot. I'm sure I'm red. I don't fucking care.

He moans, beautiful, as I close my lips around two of his fingers and suck, and curl my tongue around them, between them.

He tastes like espresso. It's in his skin.

He's pulling my belt free with his other hand. Rough. Hungry.

The entire center of my being is right there, right below his hand. I just need him to-

"Ahh!" his finger slip inside me, and I curl forward, hands braced on his shoulders. He's hot under my hands, against my skin, through his shirt.

His thumb rubs gentle circles around my clit, I thrust my hips into his palm, trying hard not to cry out

"Fuck, Rose," his voice is raw, and deep. He speaks Latin with that voice. That's his Latin voice. Latin and my name.

I smile against him, and close my eyes, and he strokes me, his other hand sliding up under my shirt, his fingers wet from my mouth.

"David- ah!"

"Touch me," he gasps, "I want you… I want you to."

"Rose?"

What?!

"Please."

He's begging but not asking.

My hands shake, but I find his belt. It's just like mine.

"ROSE?!"

"Please, rose…" his voice is deep, and… accented.

Scottish.

I pull back. I look at him.

"This isn't really happening, is it?"

He brings both hands up to my face, cupping my jaw gently. I can smell myself on his fingers.

"No."

"Rose? Are you okay?"

Well, fuck.

I open my eyes.

I'm in bed, flat on my back, one hand down my knickers, the other stroking my breast.

Perfect.

"Rose?"

"I'm fine!"

"Are you," I can hear him on the other side of the door, "you were… I thought you were ill."

Jimmy Stone, cock-blocking me even in my sleep.

I swallow, "M'fine!"

"Er… I thought it was a nightmare. You used to… you used to have them."

And there goes the mood.

He's right. I did have them. And I'd wake him up. And he'd hold on to me until I fell asleep again.

I stand up, pointlessly adjusting my knickers and pajama bottoms, then limp towards the door.

I open it.

He's standing there in the dark.

Mickey squeezes past me and jumps up on him, paws on his thighs. Jimmy scratches his wide head but looks at me.

"I'm fine. Really."

"I could hear you from the couch. I was worried."

He smells like he took a shower. I imagine he would, after trying to clean blood out of upholstery.

Blood. I'd stood in a really hot shower scrubbing with a new loofah for about twenty minutes when I got home, just to make sure I got it all off.

He's wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt and he kind of glows in the dark.

I can't help but think that, he's not stupid we were together for years, he must still know the difference between happy moans and sad moans…

Unless my happy-moans actually do sound like sad-moans.

That would be… what if they do? I'd never know. They sound fine to me.

"It wasn't a nightmare. Just a… dream."

"Oh. Sorry, then. Sorry I… woke you."

He's wearing the locket. It's small, dark against the t-shirt. Not clunky… very thin and very gold, just like it always was. He's always worn it. It was his sister's.

I remember it. I remember tasting that weird metal tang when I'd kiss his neck, feeling the chain with my lips…

I realize that he's looking at my chest. I'm wearing the shirt David gave me, It's black and very tight fitting across my chest. And this suddenly becomes incredibly familiar and incredibly uncomfortable.

"Right, well…" I start close the door.

"Right. Uh."

Mickey stays with him. That traitor!

"Goodnight, Jim."

He smiles as the door closes.

Okay. I need to get him out of the house… tomorrow. There's no getting around that.

I'll call mum on a break… she'll be… delighted.

I lay back down, spreading out across the whole bed now that Mister Mickey has vacated his half.

He needs to go because I'm starting to not hate him, and maybe I should.

But that's the last thing I need right now.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Another early post! My muse has been very happy lately. hehe. Thank you all so much for the reviews, follows/favorites. There's a tiny bit of NSFW at the bottom of this chapter, just fair warning. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Do you know what this is about?"

"Not a bloody clue."

"Title doesn't give anything away, does it?"

"Would anyone like a mint? I brought Andes mints. They're my favorite."

"I'll take one Clara," I extend my hand towards her, over Rory and Amy's laps.

"I'll unwrap it for you," she drops a warm, unwrapped mint into my palm.

"...Thanks."

Between us, both Rory and Amy are scrutinizing a shared program.

"Quiver – An Evening. I hate to admit it, but I think Jack's bordering on pretentious here," Rory says under his breath.

"Since when has pretentious every bothered you?" Amy asks, snatching the minimalist program from him.

"Hmm," he scratches idly at his wrist.

"Stop that," I elbow him. The seats are uncomfortable. Unpadded, long wooden seats that I highly suspect were at one time church pews.

Oh, pew, who could have known that when you were supporting the pious asses of the devout you would someday find yourself here, in a warehouse by the river, supporting four heathens while they waited for 'Quiver – An Evening' to begin?

Speaking of pious asses…

Jimmy is finally relocating to my mum's tomorrow. He's been in my house for almost a week. Six days, five nights… not including the night he spent on the porch. Mum keeps putting me off… she needs to clean or she has a gynecologist appointment… or…

Or she's meddling in my life and hoping that I'll magically fall right back into bed with him because she thinks I'll never find anyone else.

Mother...

I've spent a lot of time in my room, in bed, with the door closed… watching Blackadder on my laptop. Ultimately… it's just easier to not be around him.

To be a big girl and hide in my room under the covers.

Well, not literally under the covers. That would get hot.

There are about fifteen or so other people here, sitting on pews scattered around what is ostensibly a stage. I know it's a stage because there is a black wooden box in the center of a pool of light.

Everyone looks very, very hip. Amy and Rory and even Clara have outdone me. I never know what to wear to these things. Never. I feel like I'm dressed like someone's mom, and not in an ironic way.

Maybe I'll just play it off as ironic. I can be ironic.

"Rosie," Amy leans across Rory's lap, intentionally pressing more of herself against him than is entirely necessary, "I didn't ask… how's the thirteenth disciple?"

Rory laughs.

"Ugh. Moving out tomorrow. I'm driving him over after work."

"To your mum's?" she grins, "I would love to meet Mother Tyler."

The house lights go out, "Got any plans for Thanksgiving?"

They both look at me, and say at the same time, with the same manic intensity, "No!"

And the house goes black.

A woman comes out. She's really familiar…

Oh! It's the French blonde from Noble's party… the one playing the guitar.

Did Jack write a musical? Her voice is so pretty—

Oh. There goes her shirt.

_Oh_.

There go her pants.

"Did Jack write a dirty play?" I whisper to Rory.

He leans close to my ear, "I think he may have. Shh."

"I want to tell you a story…" she purrs, making eye contact with just about everyone, "…and most of it is true."

I hear a click.

Behind me, in the dark. Behind and above. Click.

I turn, straining my neck.

What is that?

Rory elbows me, and I turn back around.

Click.

Behind me. I… okay, I know it's a camera.

And maybe it's stupid… but…

My eyes adjust to the dark. I can see him, over by the big loading-bay doors, up the little ramp. David.

I can tell by the hair.

Does he know that I'm here?

Probably not.

Why is he here?

Obviously, Rose, he's taking production photos.

His hobby. Right. Yes.

I hear water falling on stage and turn, finally, to see the beautiful blonde pouring a glass of water down her back as she sits on the box, facing upstage.

Click.

He's closer. I can hear him like sonar. I know where he is based solely on sound. I'm like a bat. Or a dolphin. I'm definitely more of a dolphin than a bat.

Click.

He's wearing all black, of course. Focused entirely on what he's doing… I…

I know that I should be watching the play. The performance piece. The… Evening. But I can't look away from him.

I'm a total creep.

Yes. No doubt.

But this is the first time I've ever had the chance to… watch him. He doesn't know I'm here and he's doing what he does and… fuck, it's hot.

Hot and fascinating.

I'm more than a little turned on.

Because I'm a creep.

Watching the stage, he moves silently to the end of our pew and sits, camera in his hands (his hands) and just watches for a little while.

He's smiling, watching her.

And then his head turns.

And here I am, a scrawny stupid dolphin. Staring at him.

He just stares back.

There's about two feet between us but it feels like two miles.

The stage light grows brighter, expanding the pool of light's size and intensity as she stands, wet and naked, and walks upstage.

I look away from him, and at the stage, drawn like a June bug to the bright light.

Click.

I look back at him.

He smiles.

He took my picture.

_**OoO**_

Her name is Jeanne, I find out from Jack. He says she's his muse.

She's wrapped in a kimono in the makeshift lobby. A bunch of shoji screens put up between the stage area and the doors with a couple of tables with wine and cookies, and she's talking animatedly with Amy and the director, and incredibly good looking man with a ponytail and an earring named Aldric.

Rory and Clara are talking to Jack. I'm standing with them, but trying really hard to just… agree with them. I'm ashamed, but I have no idea what happened on stage over the last two hours. It wasn't over my head… I was just…

David's leaning against a table, focused on the screen of his camera.

I was distracted.

"Rose," Clara says, "would you get me a cookie?"

"Huh? Oh, sure…"

She smiles sweetly up at me, and Rory puts his arms around her, pulling her in close as they continue to talk to Jack about Quiver – An Evening.

A cookie.

Cookies are on the table.

The table that David is leaning against.

Clara just Wingmanned me!

I clear my throat.

Buh. It's fine, just… getting a cookie. I have a task. A quest. Cookie time.

He looks up.

"Did you…" his hands, are holding his camera, "good pictures?"

He shrugs, "The lighting wasn't great. It never is here… as it's not actually a theater, hard to get the lighting right."

"Do you… take pictures here often?"

Hey, David, come here often?

"Yeah. Sometimes. Well, whenever an artist comes in. I, uh… I saw that this was Jack's. I didn't know if you…"

"He invited us. Moral support."

"Yeah, yeah," he looks back at his camera, "what'd you think?"

"She, um… she was very naked."

He clears his throat, "Yeah. Very. Emotionally it was a naked performance."

"That's… exactly what I meant."

He smiles, "Thought so."

"I've seen my fair share of naked plays. I'm not... prudish. Don't get me wrong. I was in a naked play, once-"

That gets me eye contact.

"Really?"

"Yeah. A, uh… oh, it was this awful Bacchanal thing. Very embarrassing. My mum came."

"Your mother came to your naked play?"

"She's very supportive."

"Well. That's good of her."

Much to my horror, she had also recorded the damn thing. Always a completest, the naked-Bacchanal now sits on our shelf on a VHS beside my high school production of Oklahoma! And, distressingly, by my third grade turn as two of the three little pigs.

He turns off the camera.

I stand there for a second with my arms kind of out at my sides. I drop them.

"I… came for a cookie."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, just," I step forward and lean in towards the plate of cookies and paper napkins. She didn't specify what kind.

White Chocolate Macadamia Nut it is!

"Hey, um…" he doesn't move, and I'm kind of reaching around him to get to the cookies. He smells good, kind of warm and spicy. I breathe weird, shallow, "Rose," he touches my arm.

I swallow, and I know he can hear it.

"Y-yeah?"

"Do you…" he's turned towards me, and I can feel his breath on my neck, "what are you doing tomorrow night? I thought… if you're not busy…"

"Fuck!"

"What?!"

"I have…" I have to move my ex-boyfriend into my mum's house and have dinner with both of them as per her demands, er, request, "I have a thing. Tomorrow night."

"Oh. I was just… I have the night open. I thought we could… you could come over and…" he lifts his camera, then shrugs, "Some other time then."

"Yeah! Oh, yeah. The picture. I," I am squeezing the fuck out of this cookie, "I really want to."

He smiles, "You don't have to. You can… if you want… but… I think…" he looks away, "You look good."

I break Clara's cookie in half. "Youdotoo," I blurt out.

He laughs, not looking at me, "Thanks."

_**OoO**_

By the time we leave, I've eaten, like, five of those cookies and I'm warm and happy and a little bit wired.

David walks out of the warehouse, raising his hand at me and, definitely, getting my eye contact as he goes.

My fists are buried in my pockets and I flail to get one of them out in time to wave back, but he's already gone by the time I do... so I end up just doing a weird little pelvic thrust instead. And grinning.

Dolphin.

"Ready?" Rory's given Clara his coat and the sleeves hang way past her fingertips.

"Where's Amy?"

"She's being a theater groupie tonight... waiting by the stage door, etcetera," he smiles.

"Do you guys want to come over?" I'm giddy. I've had... a lot of sugar.

"On a school night, Rose?"

"We could... watch a movie?"

"With your ex?"

"In my room."

"Oh!" now he sounds interested, "I'm in. Clara?"

"Oh, sure. We're opening tomorrow, though, Rose, so... let's not stay up too late, yeah?"

We go back to my apartment, sneak past the dark living room, and lay on my bed watching Monty Pythons Holy Grail on my laptop until, at some point, overcome by the cozy warmth of a bed with three people in it, and the utter exhaustion of our late-twenties, we fall asleep.

_**OoO**_

That feels nice...

Wait.

What?

Someone small and soft sighs and tucks their head under my chin.

And someone else long and blonde and significantly less soft snores behind me, breathing against the back of my neck.

I crack one eye open.

I look over Clara's shoulder at my clock. 4:55 am.

She's lying on my arm which is more or less totally asleep

.

I wince and try to move to a better position to get some circulation back, but Rory pretty much keeps me locked in. He's a complete dead weight back there.

This is perfectly normal behavior for three adults who are not sleeping together, right?

Well… if it isn't, I don't really care anymore. It's… nice. I make the active decision to not think about it and just lie there, wedged in between two friendly sleeping bodies.

It reminds me of the camping trips we used to take, before we moved. We had two tents, Mum and Dad in one and the two of us in the other. Tony talked in her sleep, but it was comforting. I felt really calm having my family there like that, with me, safe and happy. Some kind of pack instinct or something.

I guess this is the same kind of thing.

Rory grunts and scoots closer, throwing his arm over both Clara and I, settling in with his cheek against my shoulder blade.

The alarm will go off in four minutes.

I'm almost asleep again when it does.

_**OoO**_

Clara repurposes parts of her outfit and manages to come up with a respectable looking permutation for the day in my car on the way over. We left Rory sleeping, no reason to make anyone get up this early unless they have to for some life and death reason, like serving coffee to people.

I make us a couple of espressos to get us through the day. Clara is chipper, (a little too chipper) and I drag myself through the first couple of hours.

David comes in, promptly at 10:00, wearing a black sweater I've never seen before. It looks old, kind of thin, and the hem at the neck has separated from the rest of the sweater a little. But he doesn't look disheveled. He just looks…

I want to vault over this counter and pin him down on the floor next to the cream and sugar island.

Yeah. That's how he looks.

"Hey."

"Hey."

I get his Tea. He pays.

"So, uh…" he glances up at me, and then back down at his cup, "have fun, at your thing. Tonight."

"Hah. Yeah."

What could be more fun than chicken picatta with Mum and Jimmy, Team 'Let's Make This Happen'?

"Is it… a date?"

I can barely hear him.

"Huh?! Oh, no! No! No, no, no… No. Not even… not even a little bit. No.. I'm… having dinner with my mum."

"Oh, OH! Great, wonderful," he smirks quickly, then gnaws on his bottom lip, perfect, full bottom lip…

"That's fun."

"Oh, yeah," I roll my eyes. God I hope that didn't look as stupid as I think it did.

"Okay. Well," he sips and starts to turn, "Tea's a bit strong today."

"Is it?"

"Yeah," his eyes are just so fucking pretty, so warm and brown, "It's good."

I want to do something. Something special, something I haven't done in a while… it was a hobby, and I'm not very good at it. I rub my fingers against my palm. After I leave Jimmy at Mum's… I'll go home, have a glass of wine and paint.

I'll paint something Brown.

_**OoO**_

After our shift, I drop Clara off and then drive home.

Rory never showed up in the shop today. He said he had some running around to do today. Maybe he just got busy, or his arm is still bothering him.

I can't park in my normal spot.

Because a car is already parked there.

No. A car is still parked there.

"Huh."

I park around the corner and walk. Rory never left.

Well, I'm sure Amy had some exciting stories… assuming he was brave enough to venture back into her apartment after his near death experience.

I open the door and walk in.

"Jimmy?"

I hear Mickey bounding towards me, enormous feet on the hardwood.

"Hey, buddy!" I let him lick my face, because I love him and I didn't care about his breath which is, especially awful today, "Someone's getting some more green-chewies," I kiss the top of his head and push him down.

"Jim? Are you ready?"

His stuff is packed up in a neat pile next to the couch.

But the couch is empty.

And the place is eerily quiet.

Rapture? Dammit! The bastard was right all along.

"Jimmy?"

It's not that big of a place. And he doesn't have a car… unless he went for a walk.

Not in the yard. Not in the bathroom.

No.

My door is closed.

NO.

I open the door.

"Oh, Jesus!"

I look away as fast as I can, staring at my Trainers but not fast enough to not see… everything.

So much skin. Black hair and blonde hair. Two long bodies twisted together in the sheets. In my sheets! Heads close together at the foot of the bed, face to face, Rory above Jimmy pinning his forearms to my mattress. Startled, they both look at me, Jimmy staring at me upside down and slack-jawed.

"ROSE! Uh…"

I have my hand over my eyes, and I back up, hitting my funny bone on the door-frame, "Ow! Fuck! Uh. No, uh…" it smells like sex… my room smells like sex… sex that I'm not involved and that's..

So wrong! "I'll uh…"

I hear skin on skin, muttered apologies.

Jesus, guys!

I'm trying to get out of there. I hear a zipper zip up.

Out of the room, Mickey thunders past me, delighted to have the door to his bed open again.

"Oh, fuck no! No! Rose!" I hear Rory yelp weakly behind me, "Call him off!"

Naked and afraid of dogs!

I start laughing.

Hard.

Uncontrollably.

I'm crying and doubled over, leaning against the wall in the hallway, until I slowly start sliding down to the floor.

"M-Mi… Mickey! Come… come're! Come here!"

I can't stop laughing. It hurts. My gut hurts, my sides hurt! I'm wheezing! Sitting on the floor, arms wrapped around my ribs, legs splayed and… I'm going to laugh myself to death.

Their faces! They both just looks so… surprised!

Mickey comes back to me, worried for my well-being it seems, and maybe he should be because as far as I can tell I've gone hysterical and I let him lick my face again because it makes him feel better.

"Oh, god. Oh… god!"

I hear Rory muttering curses under his breath.

"Rose…" Jimmy is standing here awkwardly, dressed again, "Rose I'm so-"

"Jesus, Jimmy I wipe tears and dog spit off of my face with the back of my hand, "I… I don't care. I'd rather you guys hadn't done it in there. I… sleep in there."

And I'm off again.

"Jesus, Rory, you're a m-machine!"

He's hanging back, dressed again.

"We didn't… uh…" Jimmy is completely red, "we didn't, not all-"

"Don't tell me!" why is this so funny?! I must look insane! "I don't.. I don't…"

Rory's stripping the bedding.

"What are you d-doing?"

He looks up at me, trying hard not to smile, "I'm going to wash your sheets. And your quilt."

"Not the quilt!" I slip down the rest of the way, lying on the floor and laughing, "My Grannie Tyler made that quilt for me, you per-perverts!"

Rory starts laughing, hair falling over his face as he strips the bed, "Well, Grannie Tyler made a sturdy quilt. That's… craftsmanship!"

"Ahaha!"

Mickey lies down next to me, quietly accepting his master's descent into madness.

Jimmy balls his fists at his sides, and then walks over me, going into the bathroom, shutting the door loudly and turning on the shower.

"You're… Rory… you're. Amazing!" I'm babbling and laughing from the floor, shaking and struggling to pull in a full breath. "What… w-what the fuck happened?!"

Rory walks over me, carrying an enormous armload of all of my bedding, and says, "He made me waffles," like that explains everything, "Going to the Laundromat. Want to come with me?"

I'm dying.

"Y-yes. Give me… a minute!"

I see my headstone.

**Rose Marion Tyler**

1988 – 2013.

_Beloved Daughter, Sister, Friend._

_Died laughing._

_Thanks, Rory._


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: You all are AMAZING! Every single one of you. Thank you so much for the reviews, because you're all so amazing I hurried through this chapter so I could get it up. I'm almost finished chapter 13 as well. **

**I wanted to mention something, no one has said anything yet. And I want to address it now before someone does. I am from Canada, like the U.S we also have Thanksgiving, now I wasn't aware that the U.K does not celebrate Thanksgiving. Since I've already mentioned it in the last chapter, and it goes with the story I've explained why Jackie, Tony and Rose do celebrate it. I felt I should cover it because it's to late for me to change it now, without ruining the flow of the story.**

**And no worries there's about to be a lot more Rose/David stuff coming up. :) Thank you all again, your reviews really help move me forward. Enjoy!**

* * *

He won't look at me.

I feel… well, a small part of me wants to feel bad for him.

But I don't.

I can't stop thinking about his face. Abject horror morphing from what looked like, well, what I know from experience is his happiest of O-faces.

From experience.

Oh, god. So, now Rory and I have both had sex with a mutual person.

That's never happened to me before. I didn't even know Jimmy was into guys, or maybe this is just his way of trying to make me jealous?

Well, I mean, there are plenty of people that Jimmy had slept with on the side while we were together… not that I know any of them. Oh, yeah. That little treasure from our time together.

While I was the calendar girl for monogamy, he… didn't really get it.

But that was years ago.

I'm…

Fuck.

I'm finally over it.

I open the car boot and wait for him to skulk from the porch to the car.

He's carrying his backpacking-pack with a Jesus fish patch on the flap and scowling.

Dinner's just going to be so fun. Funner by the minute.

Except that it totally is.

Rory told me everything while stuffing all by bedding into two washing machines.

He woke up alone, then just stayed in bed for a while, as is apparently his way.

"I think better than any other time of day. For deep thoughts."

So, he'd stayed in bed just lying there thinking until out of nowhere Jimmy had opened the bedroom door. Presumably to let Mickey in. But, okay, it had crossed my mind that Jimmy might have been going into my room every day while I was out. I'm not messy, per se, but the room had just seemed… tidier overall since he more or less moved in.

So Rory's lying there in my bed, fully dressed, but… in bed. And Jimmy freaks out. He was not expecting anybody to be in there. They both have a good laugh about it, make introductions.

And then Jimmy just… offers to make him waffles.

"Which, I thought, I fucking love waffles," he said this as he sat down next to me on the bench by the money dispenser.

"Who doesn't?"

"So… I come out, after he… put that dog outside. So I come out, and I sit down at the table and he's there, just, making waffles. Amazing waffles. I've never seen anyone waffle like that guy waffles."

And they're talking, and waffling, and then eating.

"It was pleasant enough. He was wearing sweatpants, looking really at home. So… it was nice. And then we finished… and I offered to wash the dishes. And I'm standing there at the sink, and he comes up behind me…"

"No!"

He had nodded, watching the dryers in front of us, smiling, and "He seduced me."

"Shut the front door!"

He had raised his hands innocently, "I swear! I was… shocked. But… into it. I mean… I was on a waffle high and, he, well, whatever he's been doing in Jail for the last couple of years hasn't hurt his technique at all."

They had… started there. Jimmy had techniqued him. In my kitchen.

"Oh, god!" I started laughing again, drawing attention to myself, "On what?"

"The floor. You need to mop, Rose."

They had then relocated to the bed. My bed.

And… spent the rest of the day there.

"You're really not mad?"

"What?" I had looked at him, "No. I mean… I guess I probably should be. A little? But… no."

"Thank fucking god!" he hugged me, still smelling like sex but sounding relieved, "I'd have felt awful."

"If anything, you kind of solved a problem for me. With your dick. I mean, I didn't know Jimmy was into guys."

He laughed, "I try."

"You're like… amazing, you should bottle whatever it is you have, because it's potent."

"I think…" he sucked air in through his teeth, letting me go, "I think he thinks that I'm your new… your new guy."

"WHAT?"

He shrugged, and grimaced, "He mentioned something… I… I think he thought I was the guy you're into now."

"And he screwed you anyway? Bastard!"

"Hmm. Other way around. But," he pulled half of his hair up, "Yeah. Thought you should know."

So… there's that.

While I'm happy that Jimmy did get it out of his system, or whatever because while I was doing my best to avoid him, that pressure was getting volatile… I'm deep down pissed that he did it with the person he thought was my new prospect.

Who he thought might have been, without knowing anything about him, David.

So. Not a lot of sympathy but I'm amused and indignant… which is a funny combination of things to be.

"Come on, we're already really late. She's called me five times."

He dumps his pack in the trunk. Glowering.

"What's that?"

"Huh?"

He points.

"That."

"Oh… just-"

He tears the edge of the Box open.

He looks at me, "Rose..."

It's full of old Porn magazines. Oh lord, no wonder Tony didn't want me to look in there. Hundreds of big breasted woman in various poses, started back at me. I'm going to kill Tony…

I'm dying.

I cling to the trunk and just laugh, letting go to wipe tears from my eyes.

I don't think I've ever laughed this much in one day. Never.

"It's not mine, I… I swear!"

I have my hands on my thighs, trying to catch my breath.

I look up at him. He's staring at me, his face going deep red, and his hair dried a little looser. He's kept it slicked back which looks weird. It looks so much better like this. I always liked his wavy hair.

I can acknowledge that he looks nice. Relaxed? But, wow, I am so not interested. Experience be damned.

He forces smiles, begrudgingly, "It's not really your thing, is it? Juggz."

"No!"

He takes one of the magazines out.

"Oh, God. It's… crunchy."

"Ahh! I need to sit down!"

He flips through it anyway while I drop down onto the curb trying to collect myself. I can't drive like this, I'll kill us both.

"Tony is disgusting in so many ways."

"Rose, I'm-"

"You know what, Jimmy? I don't… I don't want to have this conversation right now. I… I'm, happy for you. If you're… finding yourself, again. Or whatever. But… let's just get dinner out of the way."

"I'm sorry about Rory," he blurts out, "I don't know what I was thinking…"

"It's… fine," I stand up.

"What?" he stares at me, "I've got to admit, Rose, you're a lot more liberal now than-"

I don't want to correct him.

It's actually kind of gratifying to watch him squirm.

Makes me seem all... very French.

Right?

"Rory's a… big boy. He's free to do what he wants. But… listen, we'll talk about it later. Just, put the porn down and let's go eat chicken with Mum."

_**OoO**_

Here's the thing about Jimmy.

When we found each other, we were dealing with a lot of the same no-way-to-prepare-for-it, life-changing stuff.

My dad had just died.

His sister had died after a long drawn out, family consuming mental illness.

We were… coping.

Add to the equation that we were both young and I had never really been with anyone else or fallen in love or been entirely honest about who we were… we were new. We were new, together.

Would we have stayed together for as long as we had if it didn't all come together in a perfect storm?

No. Probably not.

He was more extroverted, more reckless, more… everything. He tried things… schools, drugs, music, people, and then he'd quit them, and he was on to the next with wild abandon.

I was content to stay in my room and sketch, paint, have sex with him, and only him, then brush and floss and go to sleep. Then he started acting strange, it was small things at first. One moment he was the man I fell in love with next something so small would set him off, and we would be arguing about the craziest things.

I'm standing at the butcher block cutting tomatoes for the salad and I'm watching his back as he drains pasta in the sink.

We were coping then.

I think I'm… coped.

But him?

"Ahh!" he sets the pot back down on the stovetop and sucks his thumb, "bloody hot!"

I don't think Jimmy ever stopped coping.

My mum fusses over his red thumb for a minute or two, then stands at my shoulder to supervise my tomato slicing, "Mind your fingers, dear."

She catches my eye, and gives me the look.

The Doesn't He Look Great, Rose? Look.

She's definitely had some wine.

The chicken piñata had to be reheated, but it's still good. Very good.

It's dark and she lit the candles in the centerpiece.

She's really trying here.

She really doesn't want me to die alone.

I know that she made this meal because whenever he'd come to visit during breaks, he'd said it was his favorite meal.

I, taking after my mum, start in on the wine.

"So, Jimmy, dear," he looks up at her, he was with me long enough to know that tone, "how is your family?"

"Ah. My family…" he sips his water, "they're… well. I haven't seen them much."

"The, uh, church has kept you busy, then?"

My mum didn't know, she has no idea that Jimmy was in jail. Some how she got it in her head that he joined some church, and was doing missionary work. I have no idea where she came up with it, but I wasn't about to tell her where he really was the last five years.

"Umm...Very. Yes." He looks at me just as confused as I was, but at least he's going with it.

"Ahh. Well… we, uh. Talked a little about your plans, on the phone," she pours a little more wine, his plans! Crash at Rose's, seduce Rose or, barring that, the new guy? "Your… financial situation?"

"Ah. Yes. I, uh, I spent what money I had on the airfare, I'm afraid. One way."

Idiot. Presumptuous, waffle-making, conniving, unintentional decoy-new boyfriend seducing idiot.

"Well… you can stay here with me for as long as you like," she smiles,

"I've got this huge flat and no one in it. It'll be nice to have someone around to do a few repairs…"

This is working out well! "You can sleep in Rose's old room."

...less well.

"What's wrong with Tony's room? I thought you were turning it into a room for a border?"

"Tony called all upset and asked me not too, you know you're brother dear, everything is so dramatic with him. Besides, I'm sure Jimmy would feel more comfortable in your old room."

"Right…"

"We… got Rose that big bed… it's very comfortable, isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Mmph." I dislike the idea of Jimmy spending any more time in any of my beds.

"That'll be lovely. Thank you so much for your hospitality."

"Oh, of course. Maybe you can stay through Thanksgiving. Wouldn't that be nice? Oh, I know most don't celebrate it here, but… Rose's Dad started the tradition when after a trip he took to America on their Thanksgiving. We've celebrated it every year since Rose was a baby. She cooks an excellent turkey. But, you remember that, don't you?"

"I do. Yes." He has the nerve to smile at me, all, 'Yeah, Rose, I ate your turkey.'

I never drink wine.

Beer? Yes.

Vodka? Under duress, apparently.

Wine? Never.

It goes straight to my head despite the enormity of my body.

There is a very peculiar mark between his collarbone and his throat.

I don't gamble, my father taught me better than that, but I'd be confident betting money that that mark would match up really, really well to Rory's mouth if we were to reunite them…

...like Cinderella's glass slipper.

I'm staring at it. Oh, Rory… never change.

He must not know it's there. He's doing nothing to hide it. Nothing.

I feel a giggle.

I feel it distantly. Abstractly, with a sense of expectation.

Like a sneeze.

And I have about as much control over it.

"Jim," I lean forward, struggling to keep my voice concerned, "I think you've… you have something, here."

I touch my own throat.

His eyes bug for a second. Then he glares and tugs at the neck of his shirt.

"What is that?" my mum looks, pulling her readers out of the neck of her blouse.

"It's… nothing."

"Was Mickey playing rough today?" I ask, innocently, "He plays rough sometimes. I've tried to get him to stop…"

"Uh, yeah."

"…but he just won't listen! He loves it too much, I guess."

"Oh, Jimmy. Why didn't you tell me?" Before he can stop her, my mum has risen from the table, "A bruise like that needs ice. I.. oh, I don't have any ice, but I have some frozen peas."

She's digging through the freezer.

"I'm fine, Jackie. Really."

"Did he break the skin?" she asks, coming back over and plopping a bag of frozen peas on his neck.

"No."

Those damn pretty blue eyes are on fire! He's pissed.

It's too much fun.

"Did he break the skin, Jim?"

"No…"

"Are you sure? He's not very careful with his teeth sometimes-"

"Yes, I'm sure-"

"Did he," my mum says, taking away the peas to look at the mark, "did he bite you, Jimmy?!"

"No… he-"

"If he did, we should disinfect it."

"Yeah. Don't know where he's been, Jim." I can't help it, I bark a laugh into my cloth napkin.

"That dog is a beast, Rose."

"I know, Mum. A beast. Is that true, do you think, Jim?"

"Of course he bloody does!" she loves having someone to fuss over, really, "He's been mauled. Look at this!"

I can't look at anything else.

Jimmy has gone completely red from his hairline to the neck of his shirt.

"He's too big, Rose."

"Do you agree, Jimmy?" I'm trying really hard to keep it together, "Is he too big?"

"For a flat that size? Yes," my mum says decisively before looking at the mark closely, "No, skin's not broken. Thank god" she chuckles, "Oh… sorry, Jimmy. Thank goodness."

"You can thank Him," he says, teeth clenched.

"Did you thank Him this afternoon?"

"Rose!" his teeth are clenched. Were I to look up 'Seething' in the dictionary, there would be a picture of Jimmy Stone sitting at my mum's kitchen table with a bag of frozen peas steaming over his love bite.

"Rose, stop being weird," Mum sits back down, "I know we raised you to be godless…" she smiles,

over her glass of wine, "but still."

**_OoO_**

She gets me to stay long enough for pie, but not long enough for Scrabble.

"Where are you going, dear?"

I have work, early.

I need to feed and cuddle Mickey, The Beast.

I'm ready to go home and actually sit on my couch and watch the Telly until I fall asleep.

"I'm meeting someone."

"You… what?"

Both she and Jimmy look at me, she looks strangely delighted he looks… purple.

"Yeah."

"A… man?"

"Yes, mum."

She's standing between Jimmy and I.

I can tell that she's dying to ask me a million questions but she can't because he's there.

"Oh."

"Yeah…"

"Have fun," he says, sharply. His hands are balled into fit's, I'm playing with fire but he deserves it after the week I've had.

"Oh, I will."

"You two," she says, tutting and taking off her readers and tucking them into her blouse, "Come give me, kiss me goodbye."

I kiss her and she pulls me in tight for a hug, "Make sure he wears a condom," she says in my ear.

I laugh, and hug her back.

_**OoO**_

I drive home. I feel... light.

Ah, home. Free of Jimmy. Home!

But… I kind of don't want to go home.

I kind of, really, don't want to be alone.

I park in my normal spot.

Head up the walkway.

There is an envelope taped to my door, with 'Rose' written on the outside in a messy scrawl.

I take it, open it.

And laugh.

There is a note inside:

**_'Dear Rose,_**

**_I'm sorry I fucked the Jesus out of your ex-boyfriend without asking you._**

**_It was so incredibly thoughtless of me._**

**_My penis… oh, you know how it is._**

**_Please accept the enclosed as a token of my undying affection._**

**_I would sooner drown us both in waffles and maple syrup before I let anything hurt our friendship._**

**_- Rory_**

**_P.S. – The aforementioned syrup? It would be Canadian. The good shit.'_**

There is a clumsily made hemp bracelet with blue wooden beads unevenly woven in, inside the envelope.

Standing on the dark porch, and laughing, I put it on and I put his letter in my pocket.

That's going in the memory box.

But I don't go inside.

I stand there with my hand on the knob.

It just seems so… dark inside. Empty.

I take out my phone.

I text,

**To: David**

**Body: What are you doing right now?**

I wait.

After a minute, I get a reply,

**From: David**

**Body: Nothing. Y?**

**To: David**

**Body: Mind if I come over?**

Send.

Swallow.

I wait.

Wait.

WHAT AM I DOING?

I wait longer.

Nothing. No reply. Nothing. ERROR ERROR ERROR.

My phone vibrates like a defibrillation paddle.

I've lost my mind.

**From: David**

**Body: sure. Come on over.**

I don't like to lie to my mum...

...You know how it is.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Wow...WOWZER, WOW! Thank you all so much! The reviews and the messages, it's amazing. You all are fantastic. Sorry I haven't responded to reviews yet, I will get to you all when I can. I was focused on getting this chapter out to you all. I know how much everyone is waiting for it. Sorry for any errors, but if you see anything that needs fixing just shoot me a message. I look forward to the reviews to this chapter. I hope you like it.**

**Here you go. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

It's dark outside.

His light is on.

What am I doing here?!

I've been sitting in my car for about ten minutes, parked on his street, gripping the steering wheel like it's trying to get away from me.

I think I was just… on a Jimmy-mocking, friendship bracelet high. Definitely.

Texting is dangerous. I shouldn't text unsupervised.

What are my options here?

I could… just, go home. Text him again as say that my car wouldn't start, and I'm too lazy to walk anywhere. Or that… I… had food poisoning. Right, give him the mental image of myself having explosive gastrointestinal distress… that'll put him right off, or…

Or I could just go in.

I stare at the backs of my hands.

Their shaking.

I wish I were braver, I wish...my Dad was still alive.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table with Dad and Tony comparing our hands. Fingers splayed under the light.

Tony got his hands.

Workman's hands, he'd said, because art is work. That's when I started painting, I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to be a lot of things.

And for Tony? Well… whatever it is that Tony will do someday, that'll be work too. Dad always had the best advice, he always knew what to say.

"Okay," I say out loud, and let go of the wheel.

I unbuckle.

I open the door, and get out, and stand there for a second.

His light is on.

I walk.

This place is nice, fancy… I don't know how to do fancy. I'm not dressed for fancy.

One small step for Rose Tyler one giant leap for… Rose Tyler.

I call him, tell him I'm outside. He tells me where in the building to find him. The build is set up like a rabbit warren, and I get lost, panic briefly, but, quickly right myself. Apartment 930. I knock.

He answers, opening the door without needing to unlock it.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Off to a good start.

There's soft music playing. He steps back inside, "Do you… want something to drink?"

"Uh…" walk inside Rose and also, YES, ROSE, DRINK, "What have you got?"

"Opened up a bottle of wine."

"That. Yes. That sounds good."

Walk, damn you.

He runs a hand through his hair. Oh, god, why is it so loud when I swallow?! And turns, stepping into an absolutely huge kitchen. I've never seen anything like it.

He's still wearing his old torn sweater from this morning, it looks soft and I want to touch it. It's more torn in the back.

I exhale, and follow him, and his back, in and feeling momentarily bold, I shut the door behind me.

"How was your dinner?" he asks from the kitchen-closet.

"Fun," I answer quickly, honestly.

"Yeah?" he sounds doubtful.

"Yeah."

It's a very large studio flat. The wall facing north is nothing but windows from ceiling to floor, the lights from the city remind me of stars scattered across the horizon. Before I even realize it my feet are moving. I'm heading towards the windows, it's really imposing so grand, I feel so small.

"Beautiful view," I stare awestruck, you always see it in the movies, rich people in their glass homes.

You never truly realize how amazing it is until you're standing there looking out at the never ending skyline.

I can't help it, I'm sentimental like that.

Okay, Brain. Refocus.

I'm actually here.

"It's not bad, I've seen more beautiful than that." His voice is thick, low it sends a shiver through me. I feel the heat from his body close behind me. His breath on the back of my neck.

Did it suddenly get hot in here?

I turn to face him. He's right in front of me, so close we almost touch.

My heart skips.

He's smiling, but there's that look in his eyes. You know the one where you want to pounce a person a rip their clothes off. Yeah… that look, he's looking at me like that.

I want him to take me.

My mouth is dry, he hands me a glass of wine.

"T-Thanks."

"You're welcome, Rose." His smile widens, he steps back. It feels like a loss, the warmth from his body being so close, I almost pout… almost.

I don't need to be whiney, that's not very sexy.

"Come on, I'll show you around." He holds out his hand, and I take it a bit too quickly.

His hand is so warm, much warmer than mine, and mine is pretty damn warm.

He shows me around his flat. As large and open as it is there's not much to see.

There's a table in front of a long black leather sofa, one of those low Japanese tables. Massive bookshelves filled with books and camera equipment on his desk. A large grand piano is tucked into a corner, all very rich.

I'm really starting to feel out of my element here.

Even with all this nice really expensive stuff there's nothing personal anywhere.

No pictures of family or friends on the walls, no knickknacks from places he's been. I figure since he traveled a lot there would be… well stuff.

It's like he's just existing, it feels so hollow. It's so sad, I want to hug him.

We stop beside the piano, I always wanted to learn to play.

I tried once, it didn't turn out very well.

Why would he be interested in me? I have nothing to offer someone like this. I'm plain, broken, I live in a tiny flat with my dog. I'll never amount to much.

He has all of this…

He's watching me with his glass of red wine in his hand, I can feel his eyes on me.

"What are you thinking?"

"Uh, this is all impressive, I mean really. You could fit two of my place in here."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

I let go of his hand, and sit on the piano bench.

He doesn't move at first, just watches me it's kind of unnerving, and a little bit sexy.

He's like a wolf stalking its prey.

My wolf.

No, not his prey but his mate?

That thought is thrilling, very I want that… a lot.

I have no idea what David is thinking, so I just look up into those dark brown eyes and smile.

He smiles back, that bright smile that turns me into putty.

"Do you play?"

"Me? Uh, no. I took classes when I was younger. My Dad bought me lessons for my birthday. I couldn't learn anything other than chopsticks."

He laughs at this, I love that laugh and motions for me to move over.

He sits beside me.

My heart skips again, if it keeps this up it might stop all together.

He sits his wine glass on top, then begins to play.

No one has ever played music for me before. It's amazing, wonderful, I have to be dreaming right? This can't be real, he's too good to be real, and he want me.

I don't know what song it is he's playing but it's soft, haunting.

I watch his fingers, they ghost over the keys. The music echoes through the flat.

He makes it look so easy.

His eyes are closed as he plays.

Now he's just showing off…

I nibble my bottom lip as I watch him. It's a bad childhood habit.

I haven't done it in years, but I feel like I'm wound so tight I might burst.

When the song ends he opens his eyes and looks at me, he looks so vulnerable. I want to ask him the name of the song.

That's rude isn't it?

I don't know, maybe…

"T-That was wow…"

He chuckles, "It was alright," Picking up his glass of wine off the piano. I watch as he takes a big gulp.

"You're not impressed by much are you?"

He shrugs. He's got nothing.

Or, if he does, he's being damn withholding.

Damn you.

"I, uh…" he sounds awkward too, "I'm impressed with simpler things I guess."

"Oh. That's, uh..."

I stop short of telling him about how I fell off the monkey-bars performing a stunt I was dared into when I was a kid and broke my tailbone and now when I sit on the ground for a long time my ass and legs both go to sleep. He… he doesn't need to know about that.

As cool as that story is...

I look up at him.

In addition to the scar on his chin, there is a large white arch of a scar there that I've never noticed, it's so small it can only be seen if you're really close.

Who are you?

"I… I'm…"

Oh, fuck.

He looks away from me, shaking his head.

I said that out loud!?

"That's a big question, isn't it?"

The thin but stubborn membrane between my idiot brain and my idiot mouth has finally disintegrated.

I stand up, leaving my stomach and my heart on the ground and feeling suddenly dizzy without them.

"No! I. I mean… yeah. That's a big question," asked by a big, membrane less idiot, "I… I…"

Buh.

He gets up and follows me, we sit together on the sofa sips his wine, the lenses of his glasses reflecting the glow from his laptop that's open on the coffee table. He's got an editing program open; a picture of Jeanne from Quiver – An Evening.

"Who are you?" he asks me now, quietly, eyes darting back to me.

"I'm nobody important."

It's like a fire behind his eyes lit up, he's touches my cheek so lightly with the tips of his fingers. I shiver, I've never been touched like this before. It makes my stomach tighten.

I want him to kiss me.

"You are important, Rose Tyler. You may not realize it, but you are the most amazing person I've ever met."

OoO

We're working our way through a second bottle of wine.

It's tasty.

Why don't I drink wine?

Oh, yeah, because it gets me drunk.

I'm sitting on the floor now. My ass is totally asleep and my legs are starting to go. The rug under me has done nothing to help that. What's the point of rugs, anyway? Really?

My tingling legs are stretched out in front of me…

Christ, legs are weird. At least I'm proportional. Long legs, long torso. Tony's tall too, but he's all legs with a stumpy normal-person sized torso.

I look past my feet.

David's sitting across from me on the floor in front of the laptop, one leg bent, scrolling through his music collection.

I watched him scroll through what looks like thousands of song, and it was like watching some kind of ceremonial ritual. One that I wasn't cool enough to see in person.

Jesus Christ, Rose, really?

He settles on a song and turns back to me.

"Okay… so… we got as far as the Powell Estate."

I've been telling him my story.

Most of it.

I've actually included a few details I usually leave out, and left out a few that normally include.

It feels like a new story.

And, also, as long as my idiot mouth is blathering on… I don't have the energy left to be nervous.

And the longer I'm quiet?

Oh, the nervous is definitely still there. Lying in wait for me to shut up for long enough… then it'll jump out like a little anxiety-hobgoblin.

Yes.

Anxiety-Hobgoblin.

I'm in his flat drinking his wine and telling him about my lame little life… WHATISHAPPENING-

"Yeah…" I exhale, folding my hands, "Mum and Tony relocated there. And… I left after my Dad..."

Should I tell him about what happened with Jimmy?

He'll likely run away screaming if I do.

"To work at Harkness'?"

"No. Well, no. Not originally," I rest the back of my head against the arm of the sofa, "I came here to paint." And to take care of Jimmy. "Do you get along with your siblings?"

"Ahh," he exhales heavily, "Mostly, our older brother Chris and I fight a lot. Matt is the youngest, I always try and protect him from himself."

"Oh," rather than just say 'stabbed you with a pair of scissors,' I chose to make a Psycho-shower scene stabbing motion with my right hand.

He nods his head, "Yeah. That one."

"What about your parents?"

I see him go a little rigid.

I hate seeing it happen. He rolls his shoulder, and I wish I could take it back.

I just divulged twenty-some odd years of life story… or, parts thereof.

Still… I feel bad. I feel… cold.

It's like the exact opposite of the unadulterated elation I'd felt at dinner making Jimmy squirm.

"We were in and out of foster homes," he says, squinting a little, "the system." he shrugs. End of sentence.

"You didn't know them?"

He shrugs, "Yeah, they died when Matt was a baby."

My legs are asleep.

"But you were all together?"

"For a while. Yeah."

I try jiggling my legs a little. No good.

Oh well.

"Why coffee shop?" he asks, pouring himself more wine.

I smile at the thought of it.

I need to close my eyes to talk about it.

"I love the people." I'm wistful about it.

I hear him chuckle, "Why?"

"Because it's a place where everyone go to relax, to be themselves without the craziness of the outside world. It's… a ritual. Because no matter where you go, you can find a coffee or tea. It might be rancid or it might be wonderful, but it's always there.… Even the most stressed out person can go and relax at the coffee shop. It can be whatever you need it to be, whenever. And sometimes it's not what you need it to be… but that's the point, too—I've met the best and the worst people working there. I wouldn't change it for anything."

Click.

I open my eyes.

He lowers the camera and looks at me. Really looks.

"Is this okay?" it's a soft question. I could say no. He gives me that.

My heart is racing. Fast.

"I…"

I nod.

I haven't showered.

I feel gross and shiny.

I reach up to address my hair which is, unsurprisingly, greasy and getting long enough to curl at the ends.

I am not what you might call photo-ready.

But… I can't run away.

Literally.

I can't. My feet are numb.

He's gone, behind the camera again, just a voice, "What else about people?"

"What?" God… that voice.

"Tell me more about the people you've met."

I close my eyes again.

"It's…" I breathe deep, hold it, let it go, "it's all that stuff. But, it's also my Dad."

Click.

Breathe.

"He…" I haven't thought about this for years, "Before Tony, we went to Rome. And Florence. Just the three of us. My mum loves Florence. I was seven."

Click.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"My dad loved coffee. He always drank it, every day. I wanted to… but he wouldn't let me. He said it would stunt my growth," I laugh, "He would sit and talk to the people around us, I would watch him. He loved hearing everyone's stories as they sat sipping their hot drinks."

He laughs.

Click.

"My mum went to a museum. My dad took me up to the Piazzale Michelangelo. He loved it. I was bored. Again. Seven, right?"

Click.

"But after, when we came back down, he took me to a café and we sat and he left me have my first coffee. My own. I just felt like… I was seven, but I felt like a grown up. I thought it was horrible! But I drank all of it. It took me about an hour to choke it down."

Click.

"I don't know that I've ever felt that grown up since then."

Click.

I open my eyes, cringing, "I look awful!"

"No. You don't."

Click.

It suddenly feels like an x-ray.

Like an MRI.

It hurts, in a weird way, like an ache… and strong. Like, somehow the unpleasant metaphorically-metal bits inside of me are getting pulled out.

I feel like he can see all my organs. My bones.

I glance, with commiseration, at the bookshelf trying to read the titles on the spines.

Need to deflect.

"You traveled much?"

Click.

"Yeah."

"Where?"

He doesn't lower the camera, but I see his mouth twitch, "Everywhere."

"Mexico?"

"Yes."

Click.

"…where else?"

"Reykjavik. Amsterdam. Munich. St. Petersburg."

Click.

"Wow."

Click.

He pauses, lowers the camera.

"Just by yourself?"

He stands up.

"No..."

He's looking at the screen, hair falling over his eyes.

"Move over there. The light's better." Businesslike.

"Ahh."

Problem.

He looks at me when I don't move, "What?"

"I…" I bite my lip, "I can't."

"You can't move over there? Just by the lamp."

This is ridiculous. "My… feet are asleep."

He looks at me, face scrunched, and I start laughing.

Oh, god. Not this again.

"Asleep?"

"Yeah. Pins and needles. They… hurt."

He doesn't move for a minute, just stares at me, slumped and laughing.

Then he sets down the camera and comes over, "Both of them?"

"Yeah. My, my tailbone-"

He kneels next to me, dark eyebrows quirked, and asks dryly, "Do you want me to help you up?"

"Yes. But…" I stop laughing, seized by something like panic at his proximity, "it's… not just my feet."

"What?"

"It's my legs, too."

"Oh.."

I'm a freak.

"Do you have… bad circulation?"

"Not especially. But, uh, it always happens when I sit on the floor," I say, quickly, without thinking, fuck, "My feet are a long way from my heart."

"Oh… okay," he's holding back a smile, politely, "So… how should we proceed?"

"Ha. Um… well, it's going to hurt, but… I just need to stand up."

"Will you fall?"

"Oh, god, I hope not!"

"Okay, I'm going to…" he crouches and kind of wedges himself under my right arm.

Oh, fuck, what is my life?

He grabs my wrist with his left hand, pulling my arm across his chest, for leverage, "I'm just going to stand up, okay?"

I'm laughing, "Okay."

"Lean on me."

"I'm heavy."

I feel him shrug, "I doubt that. Besides I'm stronger than I look."

This.

What is this?

He pulls me up.

"Ahhh!"

Everything from the waist down that was numb is now…

FUCK.

Like bees stinging from the inside.

"Ahh! Ah!"

He is strong though.

And laughing.

I get my feet underneath myself, kind of, feeling very much like the Scarecrow.

Does that make him Dorthy?

"Oh, fuck! Ah! Aha!"

Blood is flowing back in, but it hurts like a stinging, tickling bitch.

I close my eyes.

I have left hand on the corner of the sofa for support, and the other is still held, by him, against his chest and over his heart.

I can feel his heart.

"It's…" my voice sounds choked, phlegmy, "It's a nerve thing. I… fell on my ass and broke my, ah," my knees buckle a little, "tailbone."

Heartbeat.

"…when I sit on a hard surface for too long… this happens."

"You could have stayed on the sofa."

My legs don't entirely exist yet.

And I feel like his heart is in my hand.

And, my head, my head is heavy.

No.

My head is pressed against his.

"I didn't think…" I know that blood is flowing back into my legs, but I feel like it's all stopped in my gut.

I could kiss him. It would be easy. His mouth is open. Wine and David, everything that my over-worked artist-heart could want.

Dark eyelashes. Brown eyes.

Heartbeat.

Maybe this is actually sexy.

Like… to him, too.

Not just to me… because apparently, lately, everything is sexy to me.

I hardly feel the pins and needles now.

"Rose."

"Yeah?"

"I…" he looks down, and I pull my head back.

His heart is beating about as hard as I think mine is.

"I need you to…" he clears his throat, "know."

"Know what?"

"What I am."

"What you-"

"What I was."

Well, shit. I can tell he doesn't want to talk. He really doesn't. He's... doing it though.

Kind of.

Not right now. We're both quiet for a long time.

"I, um, need to walk."

He nods, and starts helping me lurch around the studio.

We're waking in a hobbled circle now, and I'm getting a little steadier.

"Okay."

The blood that I think stayed in my gut has turned to a solid, petrified rock.

"I was…" he adjusts his grip on me, "the, uh, relationship that I was in. If you want to call it that"

"With a guy? The one that…" I touch the scar on his chin, he closes his eyes.

"Yeah. With him," he pauses, then says very quietly, "he was an artist, of sorts." Well, fuck. "But…

different. He was… nothing like you."

"I'm not much of an artist, it's more of a hobby then…"

"No. You are, just by the way to talk. The way you see and describe the world, Rose. You are very much an artist."

I could stand on my own feet now.

But I don't.

I swallow, "Okay."

He still hasn't really told me anything.

Maybe he can't.

Maybe he just… won't.

"Can you stand?"

I don't want to say yes.

"Yeah," he pulls away slowly, "thanks."

"You can sit on the sofa. If you want."

"I'm... good. Standing. I'll keep gravity on my side for a little bit."

My legs still feel a little unreal, like they've just regrown.

"I'm... bad at this," he offers, folding his arms in front of his chest, "at... relationships. I, uh, I traveled. For a long time. After that relationship ended, I didn't know who I was. It was like... anything I'd ever been before was just... gone. And I couldn't get it back."

"Travel's good, for that. I've heard. I mean..." shut up, Rose, "I've... heard. Seen movies."

Do not say 'Eat. Pray. Love.'

"Yeah. Maybe it helped. Anyway." Again. End of sentence. End of story.

This has been a long day. I'm punchy. I'm tired. I've never, ever laughed so much in my life in such a short amount of time... my throat is sore.

And I feel raw.

And kind of stripped.

And while I still have my Anxiety-Hobgoblin, this other thing that's been there, something Jimmy-shaped, is gone.

"Did you eat a puffin in Iceland?"

Yes. That's what I go with. Finally telling me something real about himself?

The obvious response is to ask him if he's eaten a puffin.

He laughs, "Yeah. Several."

"They're so cute. I don't know if I could do it."

I stay for another hour or so, and he takes my picture while I stand over there, where the light's a little better.

I even keep my eyes open for most of it.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the reviews! Some of them are very flattering, they had me in tears. I can never say thank you enough. I'm glad so many are enjoying this story so far.**

**I apologize for being a bit late posting this, I've had a very busy weekend. Today I was finally able to finish it. Sorry for any errors, I was only about to go through it once before posting. I didn't want to leave you all hanging any longer.**

**Once this chapter is posted I will be catching up on review responses. Again, Thank you all so much for the reviews, and I can't wait to find out everyones feelings about this one.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

In my life, I've owned a lot of easels.

When my interest in painting started my dad went on an easel buying spree.

The attic at the old house was full of them, ones that we had either outgrown or ones that had broken...

Again, Tyler's are genetically coded to be pack-rats.

Whether or not our bee allergy is entirely hereditary or not, genetic fate or chance, is debatable. Either way, Tony and I have always had an EpiPen somewhere on our persons and can't-slash-won't throw things out.

But the thing is, I never use them.

Neither the EpiPen nor the easels.

Well, I would use the EpiPen if I had to…

After work, I came home, washed a sink load of dishes and then settled in on the ground, as is my way, with a fresh canvas propped against the living room wall and a ratty old comforter I've used as a drop cloth for years under everything.

Well loved brushes.

And brown, and green paint under my nails.

Feels damn good.

Mickey is dozing and farting happy on the patio. I've got the windows open for ventilation and because, while not as good as October, November smells so damn nice.

My legs going to sleep forces me to get up and step back and look at the thing, often, which is good. I need to do that and it's easy to forget to step back and look sometimes.

I've spent a lot of my life like this, curled up like a grotesque on a ledge and covered in paint spatter.

What's different about today, though, is that I'm not alone painting.

Amy and Rory are tangled together and stretched out on my couch under a blanket watching Monty Python's Life of Brian.

They'd migrated to my couch from upstairs and at first I felt like my carefully maintained leave-me-alone-while-I'm-painting-bubble had been unceremoniously popped… but now? It's kind of nice having them there. We're not talking or anything. It's just… nice. Social. Easy social.

"Ooh."

I look over my shoulder at the sound of her voice. Er, her moan.

He's rolling her off of himself and trying to extricate himself from the blanket.

"Guys…" I rub my nose, "not when I'm in the room…"

"Unclench. She was lying on my phone," Rory smirks and rolls his eyes at me, standing and pulling his vibrating phone out of his front pocket. He frowns.

"Hello."

He walks out of the room.

Amy grabs the remote and pauses the VHS, I refuse to upgrade any of my Monty Python collection. Not one to be seduced by HD or special features, there's something comforting about watching a VHS that's older than I am.

"That's not a good face," she whispers, getting up, wrapped in the blanket. Okay, fine, it's a Slanket – I like it. And sitting next to me on the ground.

"Huh?"

"That's his Yvonne face."

"Yvonne?"

"Boss."

"Ah…" this brown… I'm being too picky about it, but it's just not working, "They're still at war then?"

"Brutal war, yeah," she presses the tip of her index finger into a glob of an abandoned green experiment on my palette, "I think they're about a day or two away from mustard gassing each other."

She finger-paints a dick on my palette.

"Trench warfare?" I swat her hand away and start contributing a crudely drawn male body to her dick, "How old-school of them."

She watches me and then butts her head against my arm, "Hey."

"Hey."

"You're going to enter, right?"

"Ugh," I thought she'd drop it, "I don't… I don't know."

"You have to, Rosie. You're so fucking good I can't stand it sometimes."

The Cardiff art fair, artists from all around compete.

Jack slid the flyer for it across the counter at me this morning and Amy had spent the rest of the workday unsubtlety bringing it up.

"There's a cash prize, Rose. You love cash prizes!"

"Do I?"

"Of course you do. Who doesn't?" she adds while smudging a truly massive quantity of pubic hair to our artistic collaboration, "It's perfect. You'll get dressed up, look adorable, make some snooty judges an amazing painting and win cash prizes and notoriety. Regional fame and modest fortune! Jack wouldn't be pushing it if he didn't think you were fabulous."

It'd be good for Harkness' if I did well; at least within the high end scene, it's definitely kind of a big deal.

"You paintings are amazing, Rosie."

I'd gotten more practice lately at making pretty coffee.

Every Thursday.

I made a dragon in his foam this last weekend. A dragon. Okay, I was pretty proud of that. I'll admit it… felt like a badass.

"I'll think about it."

Sure I'd think about it.

But there were freaking giants in the scene that dominated that competition every year.

"Fuck!"

Both our heads snap toward the kitchen.

Rory's generally really unflappable. I haven't ever really seen him… flapped.

He's standing in the archway between rooms looking equal parts deject and pissed.

"What was it this time, Tiger?"

"She said it was bullshit. 'Bullshit!'"

"…is it?"

It's a gamble.

But he smiles tightly at me, "Of course it is."

He has lately taken to describing his job at the college as an albatross around his neck. A profitable albatross, but still…

"She said that no one cares about those books to read a philosophical manifesto. And that what I'm teaching is bloody garbage," he sighs, "I'm sick of teaching that... bullshit."

He comes forward, into the room, and drops to his knees before lying belly down on the floor with his head on Amy's leg.

"I'm frustrated," his voice is muffled by her lap. "I want to go out."

"Where?"

"Somewhere fun."

"It's Tuesday?"

They both look at me.

"I've got an idea."

OoO

I'm confident that I made the right call.

Taco Tuesday Karaoke at Torchwood is about as divey as you can get in Cardiff.

But freely flowing tequila and greasy yet delicious tacos? It's worth the chanced exposure to a little Hepatitis.

I push the door open, my ears ringing a little. Holding my phone in my hand, I let the door close behind me, muffling Rory's surprisingly sincere rendition of Katy Perry's E.T.

He really took to it.

Tequila helped.

He's been trying to get Clara on stage for about forty-five minutes. It's actually really sweet.

I answer my phone, plugging my other ear with a finger.

"Hey, Little Bro!"

"Hey Sis, is this a bad time?"

"No. I'm out, but it-"

"You're out?" he gasps, dramatically, "At night?!"

"Yes. I am," so sassy, this brother of mine, "Like an actual young person."

"Are you getting hammered at the club right now? Please, please tell me that you are."

"Yes. That's exactly what I'm doing right now."

"Thank god!"

It's actually quite chilly out here, close to the water as Torchwood is, and I shiver, "Ooh. Ohh, yeah." I offer, dryly, and he laughs, cackling happily on the other end of the line, "Anyway, what's up?"

"Are you so excited to see me in a week? It's okay, you can admit that you are."

I am, actually.

As much as I'm maybe not looking forward to sharing my Tyler Family Thanksgiving with Jimmy (there's no way around it… Mum has officially taken him in under her wing. I get daily emails about his well-being and activities… like a tiger or an Ethiopian child I've symbolically adopted for a dollar a day. I feel like she's barely holding back from attaching photographs of him that she'd want me to put on the fridge.) I am genuinely excited to see Tony.

Add to that the fact the Rory and Amy have also RSVP'd and… well…

"I am. Yeah!"

"I, um…" he's smiling, I can hear it, "I'm bringing someone with me."

"Whaa?" Defensive Older Sister Mode Engaged. "Not the I-Love-You, girl!"

"Not. God, no. Blech. No… someone else. She's flying back with me… so… um, anyway… you can pick her up too, right?"

Tony is flying in about two hours apart. I was picking him up.

"I, uh… yeah. I have room. I can… yeah. Is she your girlfriend?"

I'm teasing, but I really do want to know.

"No! Yes. I don't know… don't tell Mum. Hey, what about you?"

I made a dragon in his foam. We've reached that level.

Relationship Threat Level Dragon Foam.

"We've hung out."

"Since Halloween?"

"Yeah."

"Good! Ugh… I still can't believe you let him go."

"What was I supposed to do? Tie him down?"

Oh, god, no… DON'TTHINKABOUTIT.

"How's The Lodger?"

"Mum loves him."

"She always has."

"I know."

"You never told her about everything he did?"

"No."

"Oh, will you ever tell me? I know it's not good, I know he was in Jail not off on some bullshit missionary mission overseas like Mum likes to think."

"Tony…"

The sound from inside gets un-muffled as the door opens. I hear a few strains of a strangled 'I Will Survive.' Rory's drunk-head pops out, "Hey! Get in here!"

"Oh, is that him?" Tony squeaks.

I laugh, "No."

"Who're you talking to?" he smiles like a cartoon fox and slinks out toward me.

"My brother."

"Oh, really?" he leans in close to my mouth and says into the phone, "Hi, brother."

"Who's your drunk friend, Rosie?"

"His name is Rory," I say as he grabs a handful of the neck on my shirt and starts dragging me back to the door, "I think I have to go, Tony."

"Have fun, Big Sis!"

I laugh and hang up.

And then I spend the next five minutes making a complete fool out of myself in front of a bar full of strangers with Rory being the Sonny to my Cher.

OoO

My phone rings.

I wake up, fast.

It's late.

It's really late.

Once you get older than twenty-five, a phone ringing late at night is never a good sign.

Never.

I feel that cold wash of panic clear sleep out of my head and I answer without looking at the name.

"H-Hello? What's… is't okay?"

The line is quiet.

"Oh, fuck! I… sorry, I didn't…" David. I sit up, Mickey perking up next to me, "I didn't realize how late it was."

My heart is hammering, "It's, uh… fine. What's…"

"Can you get to a window?"

Words are stunned out of me, and I kind of grunt the affirmative.

My bed is under the window, and I lay back, looking up and out. The sky is still mostly navy.

A hot yellow light darts across the sky. And another. And another.

A meteor shower.

"Wow."

"Sorry… I just," he laughs quietly, "I can't believe I called you…" Sleep? Forget sleep. I'm totally and completely awake. "…so late."

"No. It's fine. I'm glad," I am, I'm so dizzily, fucking glad, "It's amazing." His voice is in my ear and I'm… I'm most definitely in bed, and there's something about that that is completely overwhelming.

And, oh my god, meteor showers are so fucking neat.

So neat.

And his voice?

"It's beautiful."

"Yeah. I thought you'd…"

He doesn't finish that sentence.

We stay on the line, not talking, and just watch.

My free hand is spread on my stomach, and I try to level out my breathing.

Oh, god, can he hear me breathing? Am I panting into the phone? Am that person?

"What…" I break the silence, "what are you doing up this late?"

"Editing."

"Oh."

"I got caught up… again, yeah… I had no idea how late it is. I just, saw that and…"

Called me.

"I thought someone had died!" I laugh, like a crazy person.

"Sorry…" I hear him cringe, "I don't need very much sleep. I forget that other people… do."

"I don't need that much," That's a lie, Rose Tyler. You're a total curmudgeon unless you get at least nine hours of sleep, "But… you know, some."

"Sorry."

"I really don't care! I'm glad you did."

"Uh… good."

"How was your day?"

I've crossed that line.

"It was good. Busy. I've got a teaching seminar this weekend."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I'll… be out of town for a few days."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it's down south."

"How long will you be gone?"

…I have no right to ask.

"A… a few days."

"Oh. Right."

"Yeah… I um… I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. Taking the train."

We're quiet.

Really quiet.

I want to ask him to hang out tomorrow night.

I want to ask him to come over.

A really completely insane part of me, one that's very painfully awake, wants to ask him to come over now.

I want him here, with me.

I want him in my bed.

I could just say it. Right?

I could say, 'David… there's no way I'm falling asleep again tonight. Do you want to come over?'

No…

'…please come over?'

Or is that needy? I guess it'd depend on how I'd say it.

How would Rory say it?

'…come over, please.'

I could.

And he could be here.

Oh, god, I want that.

I could do that and be happy.

Assuming he'd say yes.

And assuming against odds that he'd, you know, get into my bed.

Damn you odds.

Anyway, I could ask.

But instead I hear myself say…

"Trains are great."

No! I shake my head.

"Hmm."

And that's enough.

That 'Hmm'.

I'm in a barrel and I go over the falls.

"Come over." Oh, jesus. "Tomorrow." Oh, fuck. "I'll… what… I'll make dinner."

"…sure. Yeah. What time?"

REALLY?

"Seven?"

"That's early."

"Uh… seven-thirty?"

He laughs, "Okay."

I give him my address, mumble something about opening at work and we hang up.

Because I will only manage to screw this up more the longer we talk and I, for once am going to end on a high note.

And then I proceed to lay there until I have to get up for work and grin stupidly up at the ceiling while Mickey enthusiastically licks himself next to me.

OoO

So, this had all seemed like a really great idea between 4:07 am and 10:00 am.

A victory.

I was a master of my own destiny.

I was capable of change and growth and I was not, in any way that scared young girl who always walked on eggshells.

No.

No longer!

I was a new Rose who was fully capable of inviting the cute brown-eyed professor over for a casual dinner at home.

I was a new woman for just under five hours. It was great.

But when he walked in?

What have I done?

I feel like I'm not wearing my good jeans, but instead am back in my school issued gym-shorts which were always, ALWAYS, way too short.

He's wearing his blue suit and that really sexy coat.

Not brown.

Blue.

I love the blue suit.

And his camera is around his neck, and his bag is over his shoulder.

I can't do it.

Why did I think I could?

What madness was it, exactly, that made me do it?

Maybe I wasn't actually totally awake. Maybe I was sleep talking.

He shakes hair out of his eyes. "Hey."

"H-hey."

I'm standing there with his tea in my hand, ready to go, ready to…

"You okay?"

No.

I am a giant deer in the middle of the road. But… a sentient deer. One well aware of the fact that a smarter, more socially adept deer would just get out of the ROAD.

I see Clara out of the corner of my eye, re-stocking bags of the holiday flavored whole bean.

"Yeah…" I swallow, and shake my head, "Just got… umm… kind of dizzy for a second."

He looks worried.

And that's crazy.

I feel sweaty. The back of my neck feels tight.

What is wrong with me?!

I must look much worse than I feel because he steps closer to the counter and says quietly, "Do you need to sit down?"

I hand him his tea, because I feel like my hand is shaking.

"Yeah… maybe."

I am aware of Rory, watching over the edge of his laptop completely still.

David sets the tea on the counter in front of himself.

"Sit down, Rose."

I nod, and come around the counter.

There's a chair. At a table. Good old chair. My old friend.

David wraps his arm around my waist guiding me to sit down.

And a second later he sits down across from me, handing me a cup of water, taking my free hand in his pressing his fingers to my wrist. I already know my pulse is racing.

"Are you sick?"

"No."

I'm just a coward.

"You okay, Rose?" Clara's standing next to me, twisting a towel between her hands.

The door opens and a vaguely familiar woman comes in, chatting happily with Jack.

"Oh!" Clara touches my arm, "I've got it. Don't worry, Rose!"

She darts over to the counter, Jack greeting her cheerfully after looking at me with a quizzical little grimace.

"Drink that," David says quietly.

This is embarrassing. Really. It's just getting worse.

But sitting down is good.

And… at the very least, he's sitting down with me.

That'd be great!

Under other circumstances.

I drink my water, avoiding looking at him.

Embarrassing.

Maybe I should lie and say I'm sick.

Maybe there's some scrap of normality in that.

"You feeling okay, Tyler?"

I look up at Jack, who has come over, setting David's abandoned tea in front of him.

"Yeah… just… I think… my blood sugar, or something."

Blood sugar! Yes. Brilliant! That's a real thing!

Jack breaks off a piece of the coffee cake he's holding and puts it in my hand, "Eat that. You'll feel better."

I want to laugh.

And cry.

And crawl into a corner.

But it is really good coffee cake.

I eat it.

"Hey, those shots look great, by the way."

I look up. Jack has turned his attention to David who has at some point taken his camera off and set in on the table between us.

"Glad you like them," he says.

"You've got a great eye," Jack glances at me quickly, and then says, "I've been thinking about showing art in the shop. Help out local artists, you know. Donna does it," he gestures over his shoulder at Donna of the Bookstore, who is talking to Rory (who, while politely engaged in conversation, does keep glancing furtively at me with a WTF kind of glare), "so, if you'd be interested, I'd love to have you be the first."

"That would be… great. Yeah," David nods, "Thanks."

"Fantastic. We can hammer out the details some other time," Jack looks at me, "You going to be okay?"

"Yeah. I feel better."

"Maybe go sit outside? Get some fresh air…" he smiles.

"Yeah. That's a good idea."

He leaves after chatting with Clara about the whole bean for a few minutes, taking Donna with him.

"You want to sit outside?" David's hands are folded on the table.

Why is he doing this?

I'm pathetic.

"Yeah."

He stands up, slips his camera back on, and waits for me with his tea in his hand.

I stand up slowly and lumbering, feeling like a depressed sloth, lead the way outside to the bench.

I sit down, and after a second of visible hemming and hawing, he sits down lightly next to me.

"Sorry."

"For what?"

"I keep…" I laugh, "so, you've seen me have a panic attack, you've seen me paralyzed from the waist down, and now… blood sugar."

He sips his tea.

"I'm a mess."

"Eh," he smirks, "We're all messes."

I lean forward, my elbows digging into my thighs.

These are my good jeans.

Not gym shorts.

"Do you…" he doesn't look at me, "want to… I mean, tonight. If you don't feel great…"

"No! I'm… fine! I'm fine. I… want to."

He nods, "Okay. I just, if you felt shitty."

"No. No… it's… I'll be fine. I…" I push my hair back, "What do you eat?"

"Anything."

"Like…?"

"I'm not picky."

He's really quiet.

Like, I can hardly hear him over the sound of meandering downtown traffic.

"Should I bring anything?"

"You don't have to."

He looks at me, "Wine?"

God, yes.

"Yes."

He nods, "All right."

I see the top of Clara's head as she peeks through the little round porthole window in the back door, then disappears fast.

I laugh.

"Your friends really care about you a lot," he says softly, the corner of his mouth twitches.

He saw her too.

OoO

I made pizza from scratch.

He brought wine.

I'm already a little tipsy. My brain is so fucking peaceful. Quiet.

All's quiet on the brain front.

I'm stretched out on the sofa and he's sitting cross legged in my big leather chair, which was my Dad's before it was mine.

"Okay, so…" I smile, "Do you like being a professor?"

He's touching the paper of my Ikea lamp, "Sometimes. I have a hard time staying in one place long enough to really have a permanent job. This is torn."

I look at the lamp, "It is?"

He pokes his finger into a hole about an inch long.

"Well dammit."

"Do you like painting?" he asks, reaching for his glass on wine on the coffee table.

"Generally yes. But I'm not good at it."

"Oh, no?"

I shake my head, "Not even a little. I'm always a little surprised that everyone thinks that I am. I figure they are just being nice," I roll my head and look at him, "Really. You're smiling but I'm totally serious. Most my work looks like something a cat puked up."

He chuckles, his head back against the chair.

I watch his throat.

I want to taste it.

His eyes are closed.

"I like your place," he says, voice rougher than usual.

"Thanks. Rent's a little high, but, I like it."

"You get a lot of light in here in the day?"

"Yeah. I work in here."

I have been painting. Every day after work. It's felt really good.

"Hmm."

I glance over at the work-in-progress that's propped against the wall.

Clara and Rory had come over briefly to help me clean (not that I needed that much help… the place was pretty clean and I suspected they were here as a watch to make sure I didn't back out of it).

Clara picked out the shirt I'm wearing.

Rory told me to leave the painting clutter out.

Apparently it's sexy.

I took his word for it.

"It's an old building?"

"Very. I like that about it."

"Yeah?"

"I thought I had a ghost once but it was just some bad piping," I curl up and reach for the bottle of wine and my glass, "You want more?"

He opens his eyes and nods, unfolding to hand his glass to me.

Comfortably high and a little buzzed, I feel good.

I'm happy.

And he's… sitting there and looking warm and comfortable and…

"I'm going to have to find another coffee place," he says calmly, taking his glass from me.

"What?"

WHAT?

"On the trip…" he says.

"Oh! Yeah. Coffee! Are you addicted now?"

"Definitely."

"I try to tell myself that I could stop anytime I want… but I don't want to, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I could recommend some places."

"Other dealers to get a fix from?"

"Ha. Yeah. Wait… does that make me… am I a dealer?"

He shrugs, and smiles and, relaxed though I might be, the way that his lips spread around that smile… my heart thuds out of rhythm.

I blink, fast, and look down at the couch cushion.

"I'd trust your opinion," he says quietly.

"I'll make an annotated list for you," I say, looking up at him, "I'll have it ready with footnotes tomorrow morning."

"I'm leaving early," he says, holding my eye contact.

"How early?"

"Train leaves at eight."

"Oh."

So… I won't see you?

"I'm…" my mouth is so dry, "I'm excited that you're, that your stuff's going to be in Harkness'. I've thought Jack should be doing that for a long time…"

"Show art?"

"Yeah. But I never brought it up because I thought it'd sound like I was… angling. For personal gain."

"Isn't that what you're supposed to do?" he's not smiling.

"Maybe. I'm not… good at that though," I cringe, "Which maybe explains why I haven't sold anything in about two years."

"You're good. I think," he twists the base of his glass on his thigh, "the piece by your front door? That's…" he drinks, "beautiful."

Without meaning to, I make a weird groany squeak.

I cough to cover it.

"Thanks."

"Rose?"

"Yeah?"

"You…" he's gripping the arm of the chair, and his tone catches me off guard. It's… different. He swallows, "You photograph really well."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. The other night… I, um…" he smiles, "got some really good shots."

"Yeah?"

He nods.

When he looks at me, I don't know…

There's something there.

And I'm up.

My brain can't catch up to my body.

I'm not on the couch.

I don't want it to catch up. I don't want it to tell me to stop.

I'm over the chair, with a glass of wine that isn't mine in my hand.

I'm…

I move his wine.

And… I'm over him. Hands braced on the impossibly familiar arms of the chair.

His face is turned up at me, and open, and… like he expected me to do this.

Well, I'm glad one of us saw this coming at least.

He lets his head fall back.

Mouth open slightly.

And I feel his breath on my throat.

"Is this…" I don't sound like myself, but I don't know who I sound like, "is this okay?"

"I want it to be."

It's an honest answer.

"But…"

"I'm not… I'm not an easy person to be with, Rose."

"I think you are."

He smiles sadly and looks at my mouth.

He shifts, brushing his thumb across my bottom lip.

I groan.

And I can barely hear past the sound of it and the blood in my ears.

But I feel him groan too.

"I think you… I think you wouldn't feel that way if you knew-"

"What?" I open my eyes, "just… tell me."

Under normal circumstance… inebriated circumstances… I wouldn't ask.

But I feel him, and leather under my fingers, and wine and…

I feel that bastard brain start to catch up, snatching at my ankles as it tries to pull me back from the edge of… whatever cliff I'm so stupidly intent on dangling over right now.

He frowns.

But his jaw sets, and he stays there.

"I've… only ever been with someone once," he says, haltingly, like it hurts, "I mean… I've slept with people. Many."

"Many?"

"Not…" he blinks fast, "quite a few. But… I've only been someone's one time."

I nod, fast, Uh, yeah, me too. I mean… apart from the sleeping with many of other people thing. We should start a club.

"I thought it was what I wanted. I thought… it felt, normal. No. It felt good."

Sure. Easily the motto for our new club.

"I was his…" his voice cracks, hard, but he doesn't look away, "That doesn't bother you does it?"

Well.

I wasn't expecting that.

Nope.

"Uh…" I lean back a little, more out of the feeling that he needs me to than out of any kind of reaction, but... "No, it doesn't bother me at all."

He exhales and kind of sags into the chair, "Good, that's… good. I was worried that, you know."

"You're worried that it would bother me that you were with another man?" I feel like I'm whispering but it's the loudest freaking whisper in history. I think he can see my pulse, which is fucking racing, because he's staring at my neck.

"It wasn't just… sex. That was…" he licks his lip, looking trapped, "I can't believe I'm telling you this. I'm sorry. I-"

"No, I… I asked," I ease back to sit on the sofa again, but he stops me pulling me into his lap.

His arms hold tight around my waist, as if he is afraid I will run away.

I'm not going anywhere, this is deep.

We're both so damaged, I won't leave him unless he tells me too.

"He… decided when I slept. What I ate. Where I went. And, these," he lifts his arms, "he decided on these."

His sleeves are bunched up near his elbows and the scars look almost beautiful and smooth and light, like art work.

My stomach twisted at the thought of someone doing something so horrible to him.

"And I liked it. I wanted him to do it." He casts his gaze down away from me, he looks so ashamed.

Carefully I touch his cheek, his words swimming in my head.

I wasn't expecting this.

"Is that…" in for a penny in for a pound, I stare at his scars and light stroke his face, "is that what you like?"

Could I be that girl? Could I-

"No," he says firmly, "No, not at all. That's… not what I'm… I actually, uh, hate feeling… like that. Now. It worked at the time. But… I just, wasn't one of those people, Rose. That time of my life things were impossible for me." He pulls me closer against him. I can feel him trembling. "I just thought… if…" he sighs, "I've got some baggage."

I nod, "Okay."

My hands are sweaty.

"So have I killed this?"

"No. Not at all."

He laughs, and wipes wine from his lip with his finger, "You sure? You look like I just kicked a puppy."

Do I?!

Dammit.

"No!" I protest too loudly, "I just… I don't understand it, but you're not the only one with baggage," and I feel like you were hurt and that makes me feel all ragey inside in a way that I could never, ever explain to you or anyone else, like I want to Hulk-out and rip phonebooks, "Just… processing."

"It was a long time ago. And I don't mean to make it sound like I'm… sitting alone at night brooding about it or anything. I'm fine. Really. I just, I thought you should know. Maybe it would help explain why I'm…" he takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose, "why I need to go slow."

"Go slow?"

"If this is…" he swallows, "going."

I feel a lot of things.

I feel like crying into my crying-pillow.

I feel like phone-book ripping.

I feel like laughing hysterically on the hallway floor.

I feel like jumping off a cliff.

"I'd… like it to go," I look down at him, I just want to curl up in bed with him and never let him go.

"Slow. I like slow. Slow is definitely my speed."

"Really?"

"Yeah, uh…" I lean forward until my chest is against his then lay my head on his shoulder. His grip on my waist relaxes, but he doesn't let go. "I've only ever been with one person, too. But, I mean… I've really only been with him. Ever."

"Oh."

I laugh, and it feels good, like a purge, "And we broke up five years ago. And… it's been a long dry spell."

I'm not ready to dive into my baggage after that, I need to process it is a lot to take in.

"Five years?"

"Yeah!" I'm laughing, "Isn't that the saddest thing you've ever heard?"

He's smiling, and buries his face into my hair, "I've heard sadder things…" he puts his glasses back on, "but, yeah, that's pretty sad."

I laugh harder and reach out to touch his knee, "Christ, I know!"

"Do you even know how?"

"Shut up!" I sit up he's smiling that dazzling smile of his, "Of course I do!"

He doesn't lean back, and he's close and I can see his throat bobbing around a laugh I can't hear.

"Okay. So. Let me just be clear… you're not going to ask me to tie you up, and carve you up like a ham on Christmas right?"

He laughs, hard, loud. Like a purge.

"Christ, no!"

"Because I don't have a whip or anything-"

His head falls forward, laughing out loud.

"No, that's a lie. I do own one. I was Indiana Jones for Halloween when I was ten. So… I have one. Technically. But that seems like ten different kinds of wrong, doesn't it?"

He's still bent, laughing, "No! That's not what I want."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"So…"

"Yeah."

I feel like I've just run ten miles.

But it's out there.

All of it.

We both agree that more wine is in order.

We drink, and talk for a little while longer, not about going or about whips or about dry-spells… but just… talking.

But it's late.

And we're both exhausted.

And he's catching a train at eight.

I try to talk him into letting me give him a ride home, but he refuses.

He wants to walk.

We both stand awkwardly in the dark entryway.

He's got his coat on, and a scarf, and a beanie and it all looks like armor in the dark.

He reaches for the doorknob.

And I hug him.

That's all. Just a hug.

But I feel like I've never hugged anyone like this. And I don't want to let him go, because he just fits there.

And after about a minute, I feel his arms settle around my waist.

He hugs me back.

"What are you doing for Thanksgiving?"

I feel him laugh against my chest.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Thank you all so much again for the wonderful reviews. With Canada's Thanksgiving this coming Monday I want to try and get the next chapter up by the weekend. I haven't had time to respond to reviews or PM's I will try and do that tomorrow.**

**Hope you all enjoy this chapter, I look forward to hearing from you all.**

* * *

I drive to the airport singing loudly and without shame.

Which is easy because I'm in the car alone.

It's about an hour both ways and I made a pop-heavy playlist that will safely carry me all the way there and another more respectable, more obscure playlist that won't give my sibling anything to judge me about.

I have, in recent months, developed a great love for Rihanna from out of the blue. I'm not exactly ready to tell anyone about it yet. So far… I'm happy to stay in the Rihanna closet.

I'm really happy. Like, really. The kind of stupid happy where you can't stop grinning. All day. I've just been jaunty and smiley and even running into the Dragon-Lady who was deeply irate about uncollected dog shit on the lawn (which, I was quick and happy to point out was way, way too small to have come from Mickey) did not dampen my spirits.

Nope.

Rose Tyler is a happy girl.

I'm wearing my old grey hoodie, red t-shirt and my black jeans, the first time he saw it, Rory said made me look like a sexy blonde model from a Christmas catalog. I'm not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.

It's Rory, so I like to think he meant well by it.

The jeans are just comfortable… but the red t-shirt? That's relevant.

It's my airport t-shirt.

It's a Tyler tradition dating back to a time early in my parents' marriage when my dad was traveling a lot for work. He was as tall never a difficult guy to spot in a crowd by any means, my dad.

And he always wore a red t-shirt when flying.

Mum assumed it was a superstition, like that ratty old red t-shirt would somehow keep him safe in the air. But she finally broke down and asked him about it.

He told her that he wore it so she'd be able to find him right away because he's already missed her for long enough and didn't want to waste any more time apart.

From that point on, anytime she'd pick him up, she'd also wear red, and she'd dress whatever collection of the three of us she had with us in red as well.

So, it's a thing. You're a Tyler? You've got to wear red to the airport.

I'm… not nervous about meeting this girl that Tony's bringing home.

Nervous isn't the right word. But…

I don't know.

It's just… it's the first time I've seen him in…a really long time.

And this is also the first girl he's ever brought home.

I'm old. My baby brother is bringing a girl home for Thanksgiving.

I'm not territorial about the holiday, there's more people in London that don't celebrate Thanksgiving.

clearly. We've always invited lots of people to holiday stuff, always. Mum loves having the house full to bursting. With Clara finally confirming her spot at the table I've basically invited everyone I know, save Jack who will be in the Caribbean anyway.

I miss Tony. I haven't entirely understood how much until right now when I'm about to see him again.

Somewhere near the middle of S&M, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I turn the radio down like someone just caught me belting the chorus, and fumble with the stupid hands-free headset.

By the time I answer it, I've missed his call. He doesn't leave voicemails.

Well, that's not true. He did leave me one... and it was the weirdest voicemail I've ever heard. He told me later that he's just not good with voicemail.

We've hung out since he came back from the seminar.

Nothing… intense.

Nothing even all that date-like.

After that night… I mean, we're both really committed to slow.

I took him to a shop on a Saturday afternoon to buy a new lamp (the tear in my current paper lamp started taunting me like something out of Edgar Allen Poe) and I was endlessly amused by the abject misery on his face the entire time.

He didn't complain, but he really didn't like it.

I mean, shopping on a Saturday afternoon is not for the uninitiated really.

It's a marathon… not a sprint.

I smile, thinking about it, and lean my elbow against the door, gnawing on my knuckle.

While he didn't share my enthusiasm for the wonders of shopping, even a little bit, he was there with me.

_**OoO**_

My forearms stick to the surface of the high round table in the airport food court where I sit watching Tony tear into a third Big Mac. It's pretty disgusting.

He surprised me.

He is wearing a red airport shirt.

"So, now…" he looks up at me, special sauce unnoticed on his cheek, "the no-sleeves thing. Is that a fraternity requirement or a personal preference?"

What was once a t-shirt he has hastily converted into a tank-top.

I can't not mock him for this.

It's freaking November.

"I like it," he shakes his head at me, and devours, "It's more comfortable."

"What do you do with the sleeves?"

"What?"

"Do you make anything out of them or do you just throw them away?" I smile, innocently, "If you had enough you could make a quilt."

"You're really funny Rose, you know that?"

"You've got something, here," I reach across the table with a paper napkin and dab at his cheek.

He swats me away.

I'm laughing, "Oh, baby brother… I missed you."

"Oh yeah?"

"Desperately, yes."

I had taken my hoodie off while waiting for him at arrivals, so as to wear my red shirt correctly, but I've put it back on now. My phone is a heavyweight in one of the pockets. I hold it in my hand. I'd feel it if anyone called.

Tony had rushed a fraternity as soon as he could.

In a way, it makes perfect sense.

He's the kind of guy that that really works for.

The sleeves business, though?

It's really silly.

He's sitting there eating Big Macs in the airport and flexing. For whom? I can't tell.

But he's doing it.

Oh, Tony.

Oh… to be young.

I take out my phone and check the time.

Tony's friend. Err, girlfriend had taken a different flight, she had went home to visit her family for a week before flying here to have Thanksgiving with Tony.

"I think we should head over and wait," I say. He nods, and inhales a fistful of fries.

We make our way back to arrivals and wait for another twenty minutes.

"There she is," Tony grins waving at a young woman with short brown hair.

She's on the tarmac.

I take off my hoodie.

She peels around the corner, wearing a loose red sweater, her eyes immediately seeking out the two of us in our red shirts. He told her about the red shirts, she's wearing one.

This must be serious, I mean, if he told her about the shirts…

My baby brother has a serious girlfriend!

"Ahh!" she runs toward Tony at full tilt, arms open.

She collides with his chest and he picked her up, wrapping his arms awkwardly around the backpack she has on.

"You have a beard!" she scratches his face.

"Hello to you too," he kisses her, and she lets go of him.

"You must be Rose, I'm Tegan. I'm so happy to finally meet you," she says, cheeks flushed.

"That's me, it's great to meet someone who can put up with my brother."

She hits me lightly in the arm with the back of her hand, and giggles. "Tell me about it, he can't be a handful."

Oh, I like her.

"Oi, I'm standing right here."

"I can see that," she grins giving him a small peck on the cheek. She looks at my wrist, "What is that?"

I laugh, "It's a… friendship bracelet."

Tony rolls his eyes. Her eyebrows go up, "From your boyfriend?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?" Tony looks at me, judgy, "He's your boyfriend now?"

"Do I get to meet him? Did you invite him-"

"Who is your boyfriend?" Tony says a little more forcefully.

"He's a friend."

"Oh… look at that face!" Tony grabs my chin, "Friend, huh?"

"Yes! That's… yes."

"Oh…" Tony nods, looking wise and disaffected, "Mmhmm."

She's dressed like every girl that lived at the college freshman year. Shirt off the shoulder, beanie, feather earrings, silly tights… and paint under her stubby, short, bitten nails.

She hugs me, this girl is very… friendly. "Look at you! You look great!"

"uh, thanks?"

"Take the compliment, Rose," Tony says, sounding exactly like mum before holding Tegan's hand.

_**OoO**_

My mum, and it would seem Jimmy, have quite the dessert spread laid out by the time we get to the house.

Feeling protective, I insisted that Tegan sit's in the front, with me, and left Tony in the backseat, who fell asleep about twenty minutes into the drive holding the box of porn possessively in his lap after finding it in the boot while we were loading in backpacks.

My heart is literally warmed by witnessing such a sweet reunion between a man and his one true love.

Tegan, was very quiet on the ride back.

She did compliment my taste in music… a lot.

She was an engineering major in college, but left halfway through the semester.

She's not an art student. Not a student at all. Nope. She moved across the country to… find herself.

And while looking for herself, it seems she found Tony.

After a flurry of welcome hugs and kisses and introductions (Jimmy is, apparently, "Rose's old-friend Jimmy") they're sitting in the living room now, the three of them, watching something Muppets and drinking hot cocoa out of turkey-shaped mugs, immediately willing to shed all pretense of adulthood in the thrall of the comforts of home.

I remember feeling like that.

I'm being nostalgic and playing with a banana-shaped magnet.

"Hey," Jimmy squeezes past me, grabbing an oven mitt off the counter, "Remember these?"

"Uh, yeah!" I say. These cookies. She only ever bakes them between November 22rd and December 25th and they are spectacular.

She calls them Brigadoon Cookies, because they only exist for a very narrow window of time.

My mum loves musical theater.

"I've been looking forward to these all day," he says, shifting the cookie sheet out of the oven, setting it on the stovetop and transferring them onto a cooling rack, "How, uh, how are you?"

"Great!"

I legitimately am.

Brigadoon Cookies are only improving the state of things.

"And, uh… how's… Rory?"

He holds my gaze for a second.

"He's really great, thanks for asking," I say, trying so hard not to smile.

I've had no reason to tell him that, while near and dear to me in his own way, Rory is not my new guy.

I should tell him.

I guess.

But now it's been going on long enough… eh.

"That's… nice."

"Oh!" Mum comes in and scoots next to Jimmy, smelling the cookies, "It's officially the holiday season now!"

I try to grab one while they are still gooey, and her back is turned. It's cool enough to hold, but I burn my tongue.

"Ahh…"

"Here," Jimmy's there, offering me a glass of milk.

"…Thanks."

He smiles.

And while the milk is appreciated, the smile is not.

"Rose," my mum pulls me down, and whispers, "Apparently, Miss Jovanka is a vegetarian."

"No… she's a vegan," I say smugly, and she wipes chocolate from my chin, "which is so much worse."

Tyler's are carnivores, through and through.

"What…" she sighs, "I wish I'd known… what can we make for her? I mean… Tofu?"

I imagine my mum, who has never, I think, so much as seen tofu in her life, presenting a plate bearing a watery, jiggling cube of tofu to Tegan with the Ridiculous Hair as if it were a delicacy.

"I'll figure something out. Don't worry about it."

"Turkey's in the basement fridge," she says, looking into the middle distance in a way that means she's scrolling through a mental list, "When are you off work tomorrow?"

"Same time as always."

Prep begins in earnest tomorrow.

That turkey's getting brined à la the style of my muse, Alton Brown.

Jimmy is just kind of loitering behind her, leaning against the sink eating a cookie.

I haven't had more than a few minutes alone with Mum since he... reappeared.

Relocated?

Reinserted himself into my life-

Nope.

'Reinserted' is too wrong.

A part of me is dying to find out what they actually do together all day.

She really has always loved him; She's a sucker for an accent and a pair of pretty blue eyes... always has been.

My phone vibrates.

"Oh…" she looks down at my hoodie pocket, then at my hoodie itself, picking at it, "Rose, where did you get this ratty old thing?"

I laugh, and look at my phone.

**From: Rory**

**Body:**

**Bonfire at Wounded Beach. Bring marshmallows and/or whiskey.**

That does sound good.

"Who is that?" Mum asks, slipping her readers on.

"Rory."

She makes an appreciative if intentionally restrained noise, while Jimmy's eyes snap to the phone in my hand.

"The Rory you're… bringing to dinner?" she tries to see the screen of my phone.

I laugh and press it against my chest, "Yes!"

Technically… true.

"Mmm! Are you… going out? Tonight?"

Jimmy goes red from his ears down the sides of his neck, which I know from years of exposure means that he's really, really pissed off.

"I think so, yeah," I say all nonchalant. No big deal, Jimmy. You know.

"Ooh. Well. That sounds nice," she pats my cheek, "Jimmy, dear, how are the cranberries?"

"They're… fine," he mumbles, brushing crumbs from his fingers into the sink as if offended by them.

Okay, it's a lie…

I'm not a girl that lies.

Ever.

But… well at the very least, Rory will get a kick out of this.

**OoO**

He's wrapped up in a blanket and dressed in a hoodie with the hood pulled up against the cold and laughing so hard that he topples over, laying on his back in the cold dark sand.

"You're so devious, Rosie! I'd have never guessed you were capable," Amy puts a new log on the fire, sending up a spray of sparks, and then hops over to pull up Rory who, still laughing, is incapable of getting himself back into a seated position.

"I can… I can see him, there, with a cookie!" he sighs jaggedly.

"I'd feel sorry for him if he wasn't such a self-righteous git," Clara says placidly, carefully assembling a s'more and then settling back under the blanket we're sharing, "I still can't believe you slept with him, Rory," marshmallow oozes out of the sides and over her fingers, "Was it amazing?"

"I've already told you all about it, sweetheart," he smiles.

"Oh… I know… but you know I like to hear all the dirty bits again and again."

" of pent up, shameful, sexual urges?" he looks appraisingly at me for a second, "It was great. Fantastic. Divine. He did this thing with his tongue… He rolls his R's, and-"

"I'm pulling ex-boyfriend rank here!" I say, raising my hand in the air.

I know exactly what tongue thing he's talking about though.

"Noted," he winks at Clara, "I'll tell you again later."

She grins at him and tilts her head side to side in a little pervy dance.

Amy pours a healthy amount of whiskey into a tin camping cup and then flops unceremoniously onto Rory's lap.

"Oof!"

"Oh, you love it," she says, wiggling in against him and reaching back to offer him some whiskey. He drinks and wraps his blanket around them both.

"Do you want a bite of my s'more, Rose?" Clara asks, holding it out as it starts crumbling.

"I do, actually," I take it from her and try to eat it back into shape.

Wounded Beach is a kind of sheltered cove, but it's still frigging cold out here.

Stepping even a little bit away from the fire, like the jog back up to the car to get the skewers for marshmallows was brutal, and Clara is warm and soft and curled up against me.

Rory's chin is propped on Amy's shoulder and his eyes are closed.

She had the whiskey in her trunk. It's expensive.

"So…" she says, "noticed that you didn't invite David to this."

"I… didn't know that I should," I say, handing back a smaller if more manageable s'more to Clara.

Amy rolls her eyes at me.

"Hey!" I squint at her, "What happened to all those Wingman Rules? Huh? I feel like maybe I could have done with a little dropped knowledge to guide my way."

"You want a retroactive rule?" Amy asks, "Rule Number… Whatever: When going to a romantic nighttime beach bonfire, invite the boy you want to sleep with."

"Helpful in so many situations," I say, nodding.

"Quite."

I have not told them what he told me about his relationship.

I told them that we talked… and that he knew about my situation and that we went shopping and that…

I smile.

Oh, his face standing there in the lighting section was so good.

So funny and patient in a really dour way and I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to grab him and kiss him at the shop.

"You could call him," Clara says softly, nibbling marshmallow goo from between her fingers. "Invite him now?"

"He doesn't have a car… he couldn't get out here."

"Oh…" she pats my arm, "another time then."

I think about it.

How nice it would be to have him here.

What he'd look like by the fire.

What it'd feel like to be curled up with him under a blanket.

To hold on to him.

I wrap my arms around Clara and pull her in close.

"Oh, Rose! Careful! I'm very full!" she nestled her head against my shoulder, "You smell like a girl."

"Is that bad?"

"No. I like it."

And it's nice. Just to be out there, mostly quiet with the three of them, listening to the sound of the waves and the fire.

It's only Tuesday.

There is a long freaking holiday 'weekend' ahead.

Rory kisses Amy's neck and whispers something to her that makes her smile, broadly, and laugh… that unselfconscious, guffaw that I've noticed she only does when there's no one else around.

I'm really looking forward to this Thanksgiving, because of Tony and his weird vegan girlfriend, and Mum, the seemingly limitless opportunities to heckle Jimmy who is so deserving of heckling…

Because of David.

And because of these three.

Thanksgiving, like the shop, is a marathon… not a sprint.

**OoO**

Tony pulls me aside.

I'd stopped by the house to check in on my brine (which is doing well) and collect a panic-scrawled shopping list from Mum before picking up David and going to Whole Foods.

"You're doing turkey and Tegan's food?"

"Apparently," I feel cornered.

And, yes… I'm in charge of the turkey (a handsome fellow who is currently relaxing in the garage fridge and will begin the overnight brining process when I get back) and Tegan's vegan options.

She has family that lives in town, surprisingly and she's sleeping there (propriety!) but eating with us… and spending just about every non-sleeping hour with us.

Er, with Tony.

At the moment she's momentarily left alone in the living room reading Moby Dick.

She's nice. I like her.

She's really into Greenpeace, though.

I mean… I remember being that age and being an activist about everything.

I guess now I'm just old and tired. When did that happen exactly?

Tony pokes me in the chest, "What about cross contamination?"

"I wash my hands!"

"You can't get any meat juice or… butter or anything in her food."

I bite my lip, "Is she allergic to meat? Will she swell up?"

"No! But… she'll know and it will make her really upset."

"Since when do you care about what other people care about?"

I've seen Tony tear apart bloody steaks the size of his face like a grizzly bear. He's a carnivore, and I'll admit, it made me really proud to find out that while he respects his lifestyle choice, he's in no way interested in not eating meat himself.

"It's," he's smiling, so at least he thinks it's a little ridiculous "important."

"You could cook her food," I say.

"What? Me cook, do you remember the last time I cooked? Should I wear a frilly apron? And heels? Pearls? Maybe I'll love it and never go back to school and just, stay in the kitchen-"

"Okay, okay!" I raise my hands, "I'm not trying to oppress you!"

"Anyway, you're a much better cook than I am."

"Thanks for saying so," I pull on my coat and pat my pocket, making sure I've got my list, "Listen, Rory and Amy and Clara are going to be popping in… at some point. They were a little sketchy of the details," which makes me nervous, "So… I beg of you, please be Rose in my stead if I'm not back when they get here."

"Be Rose?" he hops up on the counter, "What does that entail?"

There is a pervy glint in his eye and I feel that he's just going to love my friends.

And they're going to love him.

Maybe too much.

Oh, god.

"Be charming, brutally-yet-sensitive, a sucker for pretty brown eyes and, most importantly, a buffer between the nice new people and Mum. And…" I jut my chin towards the dining room where Jimmy is fussing with the plates in the big oak hutch, "I trust you, Little Brother, with my life and with my friends," I zip up, "Also, I do wear a frilly apron when I'm cooking, you know, one that's positively festooned. I hate gender roles as much as you do."

He chucks a cold dinner roll at my head.

**OoO**

I don't know why I keep taking him shopping. He obviously hates it... but I think a big part of it is that we're definitely spending time together, but shopping's so low-pressure that neither one of us... bolts.

I stupidly invited him to come with me to the Whole Foods the day before Thanksgiving.

He's bouncing along behind me, watching the other shoppers with a critical eye as I load up the cart.

A very tiny baby in a Bjorn is screaming next to the squash.

David rubs the back of his neck and then starts poking around in the yams.

"Hey, do you…" he looks up at me holding a ridiculously overpriced and rudely shaped yam in his hands, and it makes me laugh, "…this is a miserable place! I'm sorry."

He smirks and sets down the cocky yam and is bodily shoved forward by an older yuppie in a track suit who is apparently here on urgent yam business.

"I think I actually liked the shop better," he says dryly, suddenly very close to me. We are pinned together between the cart and the Yippie who seems to have no concept of personal space and keeps edging in on David's.

I don't know what makes me do it.

I push back a little of his hair that's fallen over his glasses with my finger.

His eyes close.

"Excuse me," the Yippie wedges between us, reaching for a biodegradable vegetable bag from the dispenser next to my arm.

David pulls the much folded list out of his pocket and looks at it, deliberately sidestepping the Yippie in a wide circle to stand next to me.

"So…" he hands the list to me, "you're cooking the turkey?"

"Yes," I have done so since I was fifteen. For some reason, at fifteen, I just really, really wanted to do it. Dad taught me everything he knew about turkey… and the Mum taught me how to actually cook one.

Alton taught me the rest.

"Are you going back after… this?"

"To Mum's?" I look at him. "Yeah. I need to brine. It's Prep Day."

Basically, Tyler-Thanksgiving is not a one day event. People don't just show up and eat. No. Prep Day is as important and collaborative. "I'll actually be sleeping there tonight too. It's," I laugh and start pushing the cart, "it's a whole thing."

"Ahh," he walks next to me, "Can I help?"

"You want to help prep?"

I'd told the others about Prep Day, foolishly, and they all looked at me all wide eyed. They were enchanted by the idea. I didn't think they were staying over… but depending on how much wine Mum had stocked in the house there was a possibility that I wouldn't be the only one crashing in the basement.

Oh yeah, Prep Day is also a drinking holiday.

I had not told David about Prep Day. It was too much.

Too… intense.

But the last thing I want to do is tell him no.

"If you want. Yeah. I'd…" It'll be fine… "I'd really like help."

I really like you.

"Okay."

"I can drop you off at home after Prep stuff…"

"Sure, yeah."

Certainly this is a fine idea.

The others will be there, on Jimmy-Duty.

Also, Mum's attention will be widespread, like buckshot.

She's going to love Rory, and think Amy is amazing and that Clara is adorable…

And that David is...?

His arm brushes mine as a different Yippie squeezes by him.

"I'd like to grab my camera on the way, if that's okay with you."

I smile, "Uh, yeah!"

Mum will be delighted.

She always wants nice pictures of us and of the things we do together, but I don't think she's ever taken a picture in her life that wasn't as least 40% thumb.

I hurry to get the rest of the stuff, but we linger in the wine section which is surprisingly quiet by comparison.

He picks out a few bottles and we head (so, so slowly) through the checkout. I eat about ten cookie samples, enough that the cashier gives me a look and takes her time replacing what I ate.

"I've got these," he says, holding back the wine from the pile of groceries I load on the belt.

"You sure?"

He nods.

So I'm hovering there, trying to keep my cart, now teeming with brown bags (I have a very nice reusable bag… in my kitchen) out of the way of other people.

He swipes a debit card.

And I don't mean to look.

Really.

I'm very respectful of people's pin-pad interactions, and usually I'll actually look up and away because I legitimately can see over everyone's shoulder…

But I look.

And it doesn't say David on that card, not completely.

John. D. Smith

His first name is John.

I feel like a tectonic plate shifts under my feet, way, way down.

His name is John.

Which is, wow, I assume the D is for David.

I wonder why he uses his middle name?

But...

But I didn't know. And officially I still don't.

John

He slides the card back into his wallet, slides wallet into his pocket and then takes the wine without bagging and we walk out to my car to load everything back in.

Huh.

**OoO**

We stop by his place for equipment and my place to grab Mickey, who will also be sleeping over at Mum's.

I park in the driveway. We unload as much as we can in one trip and as we're walking up the fake-stone path to the door, I look down. He steps over the three concrete blocks that Tony and I were forced to make hand prints in when Mum had made these bricks for a different walkway at a different house.

I swallow.

Mickey collides with the door like a battering ram.

I hear Rory's voice from inside.

"Oh thank god!" I say, jogging past him to open the front door with my hip.

They're here.

"Rory?"

"The dog?!"

"Yes. I'm going to bring him through, okay?"

If I didn't like Rory so damn much this would be really annoying.

I set down the grocery bags on the porch and grab Mickey's collar. I open the door and he pulls me inside like a tug boat.

I quickly shuttle him through the house to the back door and let him out into the yard. Mum's already put out food and water for him in absolutely ridiculous quantities.

I jog back through the house.

David's just starting to make his way inside, and Rory's holding the door open for him.

"Thanks, man," David says quietly.

"Rose," Mum slips her readers on and crouches by the bags, riffling through, "I didn't put Granny Smiths on the list-"

"I got them."

"Oh you're so good, sweetheart," she smiles up at me, then looks at David, "Oh. Hello. You must be…"

"David," he says, extending his hand to her and making the kind of bright beaming grin, and eye contact that makes my heart seize up a little every time I see him do it.

"Very nice to meet you, David. I'm Jackie. Did you get a physical exam today too?"

His eyebrows go up slightly as my stomach sinks.

It was going to well there. So normal.

"Uhh…" he looks at me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she pats his arm, "What a batty question! Out of the blue like that! Hah!" she stands up, "These two both got physical exams today," she points at Rory and Clara, "What needs to go in the fridge, sweetheart?"

"Huh?" I look at Rory and Clara confused, "uh… this bag is fridge stuff," I tap it with my foot, "You went to the doctor... together? You okay?"

"Well, yes," Clara says, "I had my, uh, annual, but I hate doctors, and I don't like to go alone. I get so worried in the waiting room unless I have someone to talk with… I'm always convinced they're going to take one look at me and tell me I'm dying. I'd normally have asked Amy to go with me, but she was working…"

"So you took Clara to the doctor?" I say to Rory.

Mum, having heard the story already, picks up the fridge bag and disappears into the kitchen.

"Gynecologist, actually," Rory says.

"Oh!"

"At the free clinic," Clara adds humbly.

Rory shrugs, "So I figured I was there, and there was an opening… not a lot of people there, I figured I might as well get checked out too."

"…Great."

"I think it is great, Rose!" Mum pokes her head out of the kitchen, "Taking responsibility of their sexual health! When did you last get checked out, love?"

I sigh.

David's biting his lip, with his head down but when he looks at me he's smiling.

I'm so glad you think this is funny.

"About a year ago..." I say.

"All clear?" David asks, low, losing the fight to keep a full on smile at bay.

"Yes!" I feel my cheeks go red.

"It's so important," Mother comes back out, picking up another bag, "Do you think Tony-"

"Mum!" Tony rolls his eyes stepping forward, "Let me help you with that."

And then it's just the four of us standing there.

"Well…" I sigh, "Welcome to Prep Day."

"Oh, I think she's magnificent, Rose," Clara says excitedly, "Nice to see you again, David."

I hear a bottle of wine being opened in the kitchen.

"You guys all sure about this? It's like the Underworld; as soon as you eat something you can't leave."

David laughs.

That deep, scratchy laugh.

Rory looks at him, and then at me, "We're sure, right Clara?"

"MMhmm..."

"David?"

He nods.

"All right then, who wants to watch me brine a turkey?"


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Before I go out for the rest of the afternoon, I thought I would surpise you all with a short treat.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Jimmy only has eyes for Rory.

It's a little weird, I admit it.

And obvious.

Mum doesn't seem to have noticed, but... again, there's a lot going on.

Tony finally pulls me away from cracking walnuts at the dining room table with David to ask me what the hell was going on there.

I tell him everything and when he finishes laughing he grabs my arm, "What a fucking asshole!"

"I know…"

"You should tell Mum."

"What?"

He rolls her eyes, "Before you came back, she was grilling Rory like… what are your intentions towards my daughter? But, you know… in like a Mum way."

I can only imagine.

"I'll… tell her."

"You should tell her everything. She'll kick him out."

"Not on Prep Day!"

He tilts her head, looking at me like I'm an idiot, "She's a Mama Bear. If anyone hurts one of her cubs? Prep Day or not-"

"He didn't hurt me," that's a lie.

"Yes he did. I remember. I may not know everything, Rosie but I know it was bad."

I sigh, "It was a long time ago. He's clearly a mess."

"And not your responsibility," he says wisely, "…but you've got that big, stupid heart in there and you care and… that's who you are."

"Where's Tegan?"

"Peeling potatoes with Clara. She's got a lot of questions for her… I think she's really excited to have someone else who…"

I smirk, "Cares?"

"Shut up, Rose."

I look over her shoulder at David who is quietly cracking away.

There's something totally incongruous about seeing him there, sitting at our dining table.

It's intimate in a way that surprises me.

The doorbell rings and Rory darts by, the front of his shirt covered in flour.

"Tiger! Look at you!"

"I'm domestic!" he says back cheerfully.

Amy's here.

So… that's everybody.

Everyone is scattered all over the house working away on tasks assigned and monitored by Mum.

Mum loves it.

If she could have had twenty children, Duggar-style, she would have.

Rory grabs Amy, ignoring her as she protests and swats at his chest, raising a light cloud of flour dust as he dips her back and kisses her in a dramatic movie-style kiss.

"Oh, I like your friends," Tegan says, walking past me to introduce herself to Amy.

OoO

I'm not sure where David is.

Which concerns me greatly.

The sun's gone down and we're all exhausted. Prep Day is like that. But it feels good... the kind of whole body tired you feel after swimming or hiking.

It's the end of Prep Day proper, and now all that's left to do is check on all the things that need to be checked or rotated or stirred on specific schedules and, more importantly, to sit around and drink wine.

David won Mum over when he started taking pictures of the Prep.

Her face had lit up and she started giddily asking him questions about the camera and his artistic process.

I loved watching him patiently explain it to her.

I leave the couch, surrendering my seat next to Rory which is quickly filled by Tony. Tegan cuddles in next to him.

Jimmy's pouring wine.

The upstairs bathroom door is open and the light is off, so he's not in there, but...

I turn around.

He's in mum's office.

Oh, god.

He turns and looks at me, smiling, "Sorry. I uh…"

Behind him on the wall is a mad spatter of framed school pictures of Tony and I..

Every year is represented there… from kindergarten to each of Tony's senior years.

It's disorganized and a lot of the frames are crooked and mismatched. You can see the wall when leaving the bathroom. It looms like a shrine to the awkwardest years of my awkward life.

I stare at eighth grade me, without a doubt the worst of the worst, and cringe.

It's… humiliating.

"I didn't know you had braces?"

I sigh, "Yeah. For a long time."

I run my tongue self-consciously across my teeth.

I fidget.

It's kind of like… Hey, here's my whole life. Take a look.

"It's fascinating," he says, looking back at the wall.

"What?"

"The… it's a record. A visual record."

Of every bad haircut, breakout, and…

Why did I wear so many stripped shirts?!

I guess really liked stripes.

"I don't…" he clears his throat, "I don't have anything like this. I… I went to a lot of schools, and, I got my picture taken every year, but… no one has them now."

It feels like a punch to the lungs.

We're standing next to each other, side by side, looking at the brief visual record of my life between five and eighteen, and I don't have anything to say.

Nothing.

I want to say I'm sorry.

That I'd keep his picture.

I try to imagine him as a kid.

As a teenager.

A teenager without the scars.

A teenager named John and not David.

I want to ask him... I really, really do... but I can't. Not right now.

I feel like he must have been so much cooler than me. I was a mess.

I look at seventeen year old me.

Hopeless.

I smile.

Our hands are close, hanging at our sides.

I let my hand move to his, brushing his fingers lightly with mine.

He looks down, and brushes back, just as lightly; cautious.

I breathe out slowly, looking down, and run my thumb against the inside of his wrist. I can feel his pulse.

He moves his body closer.

I hear a cheer and applause from the living room.

"Oh, god…" I laugh, nervously. "I should…" I swallow, "I don't like the sound of that."

He smiles and pulls back.

"I can drop you off whenever you want," my voice cracks.

"Whenever, yeah."

"Thank you," I smile, "I… this has been…"

"It's… nice. Interesting," he pushes his sleeves up, "It's my first Thanksgiving in years."

"Oh yeah?"

He nods.

I hear the beginning of Tradition start playing.

My head snaps towards the living room, "Oh, come on, Mum! Not Fiddler."

OoO

"Oh, Rosie!" Amy is beside herself, "You are so precious!"

They're all sitting there on and around the sectional watching the video of my freshmen year production of Fiddler on the Roof… in which I played Tevye.

Fifteen-Year-Old-Me is there, halfway through If I Were A Rich Man in grainy, periodically unfocused VHS quality.

Twenty-Five-Year-Old-Me is standing against the wall with my face in my hands.

"The arms!" Amy coos, "Ooh! Look at her little arms!"

Mom's standing by the TV beaming, watching me proudly.

Even Jimmy seems to be getting a kick out of this. He's smiling, sitting on a stool behind the couch and or the first time today, not looking like he just ate a lemon while trying to hide an erection.

Ahh... Teenage Humiliation; It Brings People Together.

David's standing next to me, leaning against the wall and I can feel him laughing silently.

Humiliating.

But at least it's not the naked play.

At least they're all gathered around watching my boobs' debut on the stage.

"Oh, sweetheart, don't look like that," Mum exclaims, "You were great!"

I can't look at the screen.

I watch them watching me instead.

Which is fine until Fifteen-Year-Old-Me gets to my big Yiddish finish, and I can't take it.

I turn and head back into the kitchen.

I can still hear myself, and the peanut gallery, a round of, "Oh, come back!"

I laugh and try to shake it off, shaking my arms out.

The kitchen is dark and comforting and smells like warm sugar.

I jump when a warm hand closes around my wrist.

I turn, and before I can say anything, David's pulled me up to him.

His lips are so warm and so soft.

I gasp.

I've wanted to touch him all day.

All day.

I kiss him back, pressing up and holding his face between my hands.

I feel like something opens up in my chest.

My tongue finds his and I growl.

I feel his teeth on my lip.

I don't want this to stop.

Yes!

Whatever just happened…

Whatever it was that he saw in Tevye that made him follow me in here are kiss me…

Thanks, Fifteen-Year-Old-Me.

I can still hear the video playing, distantly, like a soundtrack through time and space.

Fifteen-Year-Old-Me would be so excited to know that ten years later, this would happen. She wouldn't believe it.

I back David up against the counter, pinning him with my hips.

"I got the part," I whisper between kisses, "because I was the only kid who sing like that."

He laughs quietly, and kisses me. My knees buckle.

He holds me up.

We make-out in my mum's kitchen to the sound of Fiddler on the Roof and it's so weird, and so good…

And I'm so fucking happy I feel like crying.

And singing in Yiddish.

OoO

I'd be perfectly content to just do this for the rest of my life.

I really like kissing.

I didn't have my first kiss until Jimmy.

And… I feel like I've got so much time to make up for.

I think that I'm not naturally a very good kisser. I never really know what to do with my tongue, like... that, is that right? I don't know but he's…

Fuck. Amazing.

Hungry.

And strong.

I'm his.

I'm his if he wants me.

He can be David or John or whoever he wants to be.

I don't care.

Whoever he is, I'm in.

He eases off, the kiss changes.

Like this is a conversation and it just dropped to a whisper.

Soft.

Small kisses, careful and light.

A question.

But just as raw.

I've never been kissed like this.

I'm shaking.

He must feel it.

I open my eyes and find his.

It's mostly dark in here, just the range light on over the stove, but I see him.

He smiles.

His lips are swollen.

I did that.

I have to keep kissing him or I'll die.

He's holding fistfuls of my hoodie, keeping me there, close.

Like I'd go.

I kiss his chin, light and sweet, the way he kissed me and when he gasps I feel like I'm floating.

There is a quick blonde blur at the edge of my vision on the other side of the fridge.

"Jackie!"

David and I freeze, hidden by the bulk of the fridge.

"Oof!" glasses clink, "Rory! I'm sorry I walked right into you, sweetie."

"I have to ask… that painting there," god bless you, Rory, "Who painted that?"

David and I pull apart, but, god I don't want to… and why should I have to?

"My husband painted that one," I hear Mum say to him, pride in her voice, and she starts telling about it.

David's looking down, straightening his shirt.

I don't care.

I kiss him again.

"Hmm," he smiles against my mouth, "your hair."

"Huh?"

"Just let me rinse these in the sink…"

"Oh, I've got that," Rory says, total mum-charmer, and I hear the clink of glasses again.

I reluctantly step back from him, touching my hair.

Oh, it's really good. Sticking up everywhere.

It's definitely due for a cut, and just getting curlier by the day.

He'd grabbed it, holding on to me that way.

I shiver. A good shiver.

Rory walks in, clutching a few wine glasses between his hands.

He acts surprised to see us, "Oh. Hey."

"Hey," we both say.

He turns on the sink, rinsing the wine glasses.

"Here are the rest," Mum walks in, "Oh! There you are," she looks at me critically.

She knows.

"Are you still watching it?"

"Uh… no, sweetie," she totally knows, "finished it up. We're watching Sherlock Holmes, if you'd like to join us again for that."

Fuck, how long were we in here?

That's a long tape.

"And we're switching to red wine," she hands Rory the glasses in her hands.

"Ahh."

She pats Rory's shoulder and grabs two bottles of wine from the counter before walking back out of the kitchen.

Rory looks sideways at me, smiling like a proud parent.

OoO

The rest of the night goes exactly as my mum wants it to.

She plies us all with lots of wine and insists that we play board games until bedtime.

I'm completely out of my mind.

I've got all this adrenaline and...

I don't think my body knows what to do with it. I hate roller coasters and driving fast and first person shooters...

I'm shaking still, and it's all adrenaline.

I was drunk before I started drinking… that's how I feel.

By the time I foolishly and giddily start spreading out the Twister mat, I know I'm too drunk to drive David home.

I look at him just before Mum calls out, "Left foot green!" and want to tell him that I'm sorry, but the words get stuck in my throat.

He's sitting on the couch with Clara, watching Rory, Amy, Tegan and me play this stupid game and he's… laughing.

He looks relaxed and happy-

"Rose!" Clara kicks my knee, "Left foot green!"

I don't get around to tell him that I'm too drunk to drive him home until the game is done (It came down to a brutal contortionist showdown between Rory and Clara, who both apparently take the game very, very seriously that was deeply unsettling for Tony, Tegan and me to watch) by which time I'm drunker still, thanks to Mum.

"Well he should sleep over," Mum says, pouring the rest of a bottle into my glass, "It's so foggy outside now anyway. I'd feel better if you weren't on the road."

It's well played.

A fine and delicate structure of Mum-guilt and logic… and she smiles up at me with perfect innocence.

Only Jimmy and Tony, who have given up on the rest of us and are taking a game of Jenga very seriously are totally disinterested in this turn of events; everyone else is riveted.

"He didn't bring anything-"

"I have extras of everything," she looks at David, "Toothbrush, and pajamas, whatever you need."

He looks from her to me, "I'm… if there's room."

"Plenty of it!" she says.

So… that's happening.

We've all been given a time and a schedule for some food that needs tending. I've got to flip the brining turkey at 4:00, which sounds truly awful but is this weird thing that I've come to really like about Thanksgiving over the years. It's a weird, gross little ritual.

Sometimes I'm weird and gross.

"Bollocks!"

The Jenga falls.

Jimmy offers to give me my room back but I quickly decline.

It's his for the time being.

I'm fine with that.

The basement's been set up in such a way that it looks like a hostel.

She really has prepared for this.

Bedding is folded up in piles are there are air mattresses in addition to the futon.

"Also, the living room's free if anyone doesn't want to sleep subterranean," she rubs my back cheerfully, showing me the basement.

David went with the others to grab stuff out of Rory's car.

"Mum-"

She puts up her hands, "Does he make you happy?"

"Y-yes."

"Does he treat you with respect?"

I swallow, "Yes."

She pulls me close to kiss my cheek, "That's all that matters to me, Rose."

I hug her, tight.

"Poor Rory, though!" she says.

I laugh, "Don't worry too much about him."

"Rose Tyler! That's a terrible thing to say! He's very sweet and he simply adores you," she pulls back, "I was wondering… he's very close with Amy?"

"Very."

"Also…" she leans in, screwing up her face, and I hear voices at the top of the stairs, "I think Jimmy's got a crush. He's been acting so weird today, right!?"

I laugh.

"You're a good mum, Mum."

She smiles, smugly, "I do the best I can."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: You all are so amazing. I just can`t make you wait too long for the next chapter, I wasn`t going to post until Monday, but with all the amazing reviews for the last chapter I couldn`t help it.**

**So this is a biggie, I can`t wait to hear the feedback on it. **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

A driver comes from Tegan's family and picks her up at around midnight.

Tony bundles up and goes outside with her to say goodbye.

I laugh and see my breath go up in front of my face.

Over-protective baby brother? Yes. It's nice to see this side of him that we hardly ever get to see.

Tony, still sleeveless, seems to be completely immune to the cold.

When we come back in, Mum is handing out supplies, assessing needs with the efficiency of a triage nurse. We all start ambling towards going to bed.

Air mattresses are inflated and bedding spread out.

While Tony grunts a g'night and disappears into his room. Clara decides that she'd rather sleep in the basement with everyone else than upstairs on the sofa, and she's down there now sitting between Amy's knees and getting her hair braided.

"You two have the same hair, just different colour," Amy says, "So pretty. You should let me do yours next, Rosie," she looks over her shoulder at me.

"Oh should I?"

"Mmm, you should see if David will grow his hair longer," she turns back around, "I love longer hair on a man. There's something so gratifying about just grabbing a handful and pulling their head back," she leans forward and says into Clara's ear, "They always look so surprised."

Rory's shaggy head pops out of the hoodie he's pulling on over a blue t-shirt.

"What's that now?"

His hair is loose and full of static electricity.

"You like it when I pull your hair," she says matter of factly over the top of Clara's head.

He closes his eyes and smiles like a cat napping in the sun, "I really do."

Clara chuckles and extends her wine glass toward me.

We brought what was left of a bottle of red down with us… and it's going fast.

I'm pouring when David comes down the stairs in a pair of sweatpants that are way too long and what I recognize as one of Tony's old long sleeve t-shirts.

There's one big air mattress and three twins.

Rory, Amy and Clara are suspiciously quick in claiming the three twins. Almost as if they'd, you know, discussed it when I was changing into my pajamas and out of the room, which leaves David and I on the queen-sized air mattresses.

Next to each other.

"Uh…" I scratch the back of my neck, "well. There's, uh, the living room… if…"

…if this is too forward.

He doesn't look at me, standing next to me, but just looks at the air mattress, "I don't mind."

"I toss. And turn. A lot," I laugh, awkwardly, and feel three sets of eyes on me even though they're all trying really hard to look like they're just talking to each other about sheets, or whatever.

"I could have guessed that," he says, really quietly. Hardly audible at all.

Has he thought about what kind of sleeper I am?

Which would mean thinking about me in bed.

No… maybe it's just that I'm… wow, I am fidgeting a lot.

I try to not move anything.

That's definitely weirder.

I sigh.

The others break apart as if from a huddle and all simultaneously start to loudly get settled into their beds, adjusting blankets and pillows.

Neither one of us moves.

We just stand there staring at that seemingly innocuous air mattress with Tony's old cloud-patterned flannel sheets spread out over the top and one of Granny Tyler's quilts spread up crookedly.

Rory's voice gets a little louder as he pounds his pillow into shape, which is great and welcome because, wow, this basement is so much quieter than I remember.

"Hey," David whispers, giving me a little half smile, "don't worry. Nothing… we don't have to do anything."

But… I want to!

All I can think about is the way that his lips feel, the way his mouth and skin tastes, and now… he's smells clean like spearmint toothpaste and I feel like there's a magnet in my chest that just keeps pulling me in closer and closer and it hurts to just stand there.

But… it's a good hurt. I think.

Like… wanting.

I nod.

I gradually settle in, lying on my belly to be part of the on-going conversation.

He lays down next to me, close but not touching.

Amy breaks the groups carefully constructed facade of cool for a split second by smiling at me, truly delighted that this has happened.

We are, technically, in bed.

Her smile actually bolsters my confidence. I slip past silent-panic at having him there, so close and so horizontal and so fucking warm and dressed in cotton and instead I just feel that magnet tug.

When he talks, contributing his thoughts to the best-basement-stories discussion (really... that's the filler conversation they come up with. Best Basement Stories), I feel the vibration of his voice through the air mattress.

OoO

There is a nightlight. Which is fine.

What kills me is that it is shaped like a uterus. Where does my mother find these things?

The little glowing uterus (and fallopian tubes with tiny marble-sized ovaries) emits just enough light that the bodies in the basement are faintly outlined. I keep waking up at any kind of noise and have watched the four of them kind of shift around over the course of the night. Rory and Amy are more or less stacked on top of each other together on one twin mattress and Clara has scooted closer to them and propped her feet (in her ridiculous footie pajamas) on the old chair, sharing her blankets warmth with them. Clara talks in her sleep, and I periodically hear Rory and Amy giggling at the nonsense she mumbles.

I'm mostly awake in the dark. Still on my belly. My face was turned away from him, but I shift and turn and press my cheek into a cool stretch of pillow and now…

I can see his profile in the uterus-light. He's on his back, arms folded across his chest like the lid of a sarcophagus.

His nose is just... worldly.

Oh, whatever. I know what I mean.

His eyes are closed.

Until the alarm on my watch goes off.

His eyes open fast enough that I doubt he was asleep at all and he looks at me and I am so very close to his face.

I didn't realize it.

When did I scoot so close? I'm well past the center line of this air mattress.

He turns his head towards me, and I watch his eyelids close, like they're heavy, his eyelashes are dark and perfect, like ink, and soft like a fan brush.

"What time is it?" he asks, low, and the sound of his voice in the dark that sends my blood racing… oh, god…

"Four. I have to go flip the bird."

I feel him laugh, "What?"

"The… turkey. I have to go turn in right side up… so that the meat…" I think I'm awake, "gets… equal… you know, gravity… and, the brine…" my hand is moving through the dark, white and glowing softly blue in the uterus-light. I know it's mine, abstractly, but it doesn't feel like mine until I feel the smooth warmth of his jaw in my palm.

What am I doing?

He breathes out slowly, and I feel the muscle of his jaw move under his skin.

"Can I help?"

"It's pretty much a one woman job," I smile.

His hair is so soft against my fingertips… and he has, like, no beard whatsoever. Nothing. He's just… smooth. And warm. And…

"Oh," he's closer. He's moving closer.

My hand is still on his jaw, and that's how I know how close he is.

I'm not pulling him in. I'm very much not doing that.

Oh I'm totally doing that.

These sheets smell like mum's linen closet. I used to like to play in there in the dark. I'd shut the door and burrow into the quilts and blankets and sheets and she'd get so mad at me for messing everything up. But I loved it. In the dark it was like those sheets could have been anything, anywhere.

This feels like that.

I'm that kid again.

I want to mess up and burrow in and never, ever come back out.

His lips are warm and wet when I find them.

Like he just licked them.

And the toothpaste taste is still there but faint and it's just him, David.

"David."

"Hmm."

He doesn't move any further and I don't pull.

Because, remember, remember we are moving slow.

In the dark.

His head is on my pillow.

But his body curves away from mine.

Remember.

My brain remembers.

My body… well, it remembers but it has its own ideas too.

But I hold back, and the only place we touch is lips, and chins, noses.

Teeth.

Tongues.

My phone buzzes a second alarm from the pocket of my balled up jeans above my head on the floor.

"Turkey," I groan.

"I'm up. I'll come with you."

Who am I to say no?

So after we both get up, he's standing here in the garage in bare feet while I get up to my elbows in brine and flip a slippery cold naked turkey. It's the first time anyone's ever watched me do it, and also the first time I realize how weird and hilariously gross the process is.

I laugh, and try to shake or blow a clump of hair out of my eyes because I can't use my briney hands.

And I feel his fingers on my face, pulling hair back, away.

I stop laughing.

"I really like you."

I blurt it out.

But I don't regret it.

He nods, eyes darting beneath those thick eyelashes, "I…"

His eyes are dark, pupils enormous in the dark garage, and he searches my face for something.

My hands drip.

I reach past him for the towel I left on the hood of Mum's car and wipe my hands dry.

He catches me as I pull back and kisses me, growling, "I like you."

I can't touch him with dead bird juice on my hands, so I just kind of hold my arms out at the side, but my heart is hammering and I know he can hear it because the garage is totally silent. Completely.

So quiet that I can hear footsteps in the kitchen on the other side of the door that separates the garage from the house.

No one else has a 4:00 obligation.

The garage is freezing and we're both barefoot, so, as much as it ruins the moment which feels unexpectedly significant, we head back inside.

That warm inviting air mattress is sounding better and better… as is warm water and vanilla scented hand soap to wash off the brine.

Jimmy is standing there, staring at a casserole dish of half a lasagna.

"Jim?" I say quietly.

Is he sleepwalking? And sleep eating?

He turns and looks at me and without meaning to, I cringe.

No. He's awake.

He looks awful.

"What are you doing up?"

"I thought…" he glances past me to David then shakes his head.

"Thought…?"

"Nevermind," he says, eating a forkful of cold lasagna.

I wash my hands, letting the water get a little too hot.

I'm very aware of both of them, standing there behind me, on either side… like little good and evil angels, or… unknown and known, the future and the past.

God… the Past is looking wrecked.

Despite my better judgment, and my big stupid heart feels bad for him.

Worried.

"What's going on?"

"Can't sleep," he says, curtly, eating more.

"Do you want to…" I shut off the sink with my elbow, "talk?"

He looks at me, and his eyes are a little red.

"No."

A very Scottish reply.

"Okay… well... uh… feel better," I say it sincerely and dry my hands and walk towards David (Future) and away from Jimmy (Past).

I forget about Jimmy entirely once I'm back under the quilt in the uterus-lit basement, wrapped up in flannel clouds, breathing in that linen closet smell and falling asleep again next to David, me on my stomach, him on his back, and both of our faces turned towards each other.

It's been a long, long time since I got verbal confirmation that someone I like... liked me back.

And somehow, even though I strongly suspected that he did like me, too, hearing it is just...

I smile.

And I'm asleep.

OoO

"Rose."

No.

I don't want to get up.

"Rose."

I am so effing comfortable right now.

Why can't you people just let me sleep?

"Rosie, it's Thanksgiving."

I groan.

And when I start to turn, I stop.

I stop because there is a very warm weight against me.

And I never want to move again.

He's awake too.

We aren't wrapped around each other or anything, but our sleeping bodies kind of… rolled into each other in the center of the air mattress. Enough air's gone out of the mattress that where we are together is a deep groove, the sides holding up closer together.

His head is level with my chest, though, and that's…

Warm. Hot.

And Amy…

Is there standing over us with two cups of coffee in her hands.

"Good morning, Sleepy Heads," she says softly.

David rumbles what I think is a 'Good morning,' back.

She smiles at me knowingly and turns around to set the coffee cups on the ping-pong table.

"Hey…"

I look down at him, and he scoots over a little, finger combing his hair into some semblance of what it usually looks like.

But it's messy. So much messier than I've ever seen it before. I want to bury my face in it and take away his brush or comb of whatever he uses because this?

I like this.

"Good morning," he has creases on his cheek from the sheets and from his shirt.

"Mmhmm…"

I take a deep calming breath and smile at him.

He looks like he's going to say something… but… doesn't. Just looks.

Without glasses.

There's one small window high on the wall in the basement, just at ground level and the morning sunlight comes in and just sets the brown in his eyes on fire.

That's my brown.

The brown I keep trying to find or make…

I try to memorize it.

Can you memorize a color?

"You didn't toss and turn," he says finally, narrowing his eyes at me and smirking.

"I guess I was comfortable."

"Hmm…"

"Which one of us gets up first?" I ask, giving the sagging air mattress a testing bounce.

I hear Amy make a kind of gasping yelp and look back at them just as she and Rory both roll off the edge of their air mattress, falling and laughing, hopelessly tangled in sheets and blankets. As she tried to wake him.

Clara hops over to them and starts trying to free them.

David's watching them too.

"You go first," he says, very near my ear, "you're smaller."

I am.

Smaller.

I'm also very aware of the difference in the size of us.

And lying here, I can't help but wonder how we would fit together…

Rory and Amy are still laughing and Clara is fussing over them.

And now is not the time to think about… fitting.

I get up, shifting myself in a way that I hope is subtle and turn, looking over my shoulder just as he's getting up on the other side and doing the same thing.

OoO

True to my word, I wear my frilly apron to cook my turkey, and a selection of unintentionally somber vegan options for Tegan who shows up around 9:30 and is quickly put to work setting up the table.

Mum is beyond tickled. She had to put two leaves in the table she has so many people in her house. It's, like, her favorite thing.

After getting the bird into the oven, I waited my turn to take a shower. I drank three cups of coffee and ate a half a croissant. Clara took over Mum's bathroom, Rory and Amy hopped in the downstairs guest bathroom (and, I suspect, were doing more than saving water by getting in together…) and I waited patiently for David to come out of the shower that had been mine, and Tony`s.

When he finds me, I can't stop looking at his wet hair.

It's heavy and pushed into roughly the right shape, but with just the faintest wave and, oh god help me a tiny little river of water that follows the course set by a drop that ran down the side of his neck and under his collar and I want to lick it—

I look at his face.

Huh.

That's an expression.

That's… well it's not quite a bad expression.

But it's not a good one.

"What… what's up?"

I stand up, feeling like a character in a movie who is just realizing that the bloodied doctor who's come into the waiting room is not going to tell them that the surgery went well.

"Uhh…" he blinks at me, "Your, uh, friend…"

Oh, god.

"Which friend? The place is crawling with them."

"Jimmy."

I don't like this.

"Uh-huh…"

He frowns, but looks generally amused, which is a good thing, "He, uh, I think he just tried to, uh, kiss me."

"Uh-huh."

One dark eyebrow quirks, "It was… weird."

"Yeah. Yeah! That's…" I need to tell him, why haven't I told him? "He, uh… he's kind of going through an identity crisis. Thing."

"Uh-huh."

"And… uh…" Don't be a pussy, Rose! "He's, um…"

I can't.

Not right now.

I should have told him before… that Jimmy is, er… was the one guy. The one guy ever, guy.

But it would have been weird!

Well, it's a lot weirder now.

"What did he do? Are you…"

He laughs dryly, and rubs water from his neck with his hand, "I'm fine. It was just… unexpected. And unwelcome."

I sigh.

Tell him.

"Sorry!"

"It's… not your fault."

Yes it is.

"I'm… I'll go talk to him," I say, madly reaching out to wipe away a drop of water from the bottom of his ear without realizing it.

He blinks fast, and doesn't pull away, but goes kind of rigid.

But his eyes don't leave my face.

"Can you, uh," I pull my hand back and rub my wet fingers together, "uh, keep an eye on the sweet potatoes?"

"Sure."

"Just don't let any meat get in there… or butter… anything from an animal."

He smirks, "I understand veganism."

I don't want to deal with Jimmy right now… and I've got a cold lump in my gut, but I smile back at him.

OoO

Jimmy is sitting on my bed with his hands folded and his head bowed.

Is he praying?!

"Hey. We need to talk."

I close the door behind me.

I'm pissed.

I generally don't get pissed.

I'm generally a very convivial type.

But... I didn't realize how fucking pissed I was until right now.

He's gone after not one, but two of my boyfriends…

Well, okay, technically neither of them is my boyfriend.

But… that's not the point! So far as he knows they both are.

Overlapping, sure, but…

Focus.

Pissed off!

He looks up at me.

"You're different," he says, and it's a little accusatory.

My defenses are up.

I wish I wasn't wearing pajama pants… but at least I left the apron in the kitchen.

"What are you doing, Jimmy?"

"You're with both of them? Is that…" I wish the blinds were open… it's a little noir in here for my tastes, "…what you do now? You used to be, different. Just with me. And now you can…" he shakes his head, "and now you're with everyone but me."

My jaw is slack.

"What?!"

"Why them and not me?"

"WHAT?!"

He stands up.

"I came back here for you, Rose. Because you made me happy… we were happy. And-"

"Fuck you! You broke my fucking heart, you asshole."

Well, there it is.

Done.

And loud enough that I imagine they've all heard me in the living room.

Perfect.

He stares at me, stunned.

It's happening…

"You know what? That's the first time I've ever admitted that. I didn't want to admit it, so I didn't for five years. But… no, you'd been breaking my heart before that. Slowly. Over time. By… fucking whoever, lying to me about it-"

"Rose-" his hands are balled into fists, he's getting angry.

I don't give a shit.

"I was miserable! I was hurt," oh god, I can't stop it "and scared that you were going to catch something… that I'd catch something from you. You used to make fun of me for being a hypochondriac… but I'm not! I've never been a hypochondriac. I was only like that with you!"

I can't stop, it's all coming out in a wave.

"The best thing that ever happened to me was when you were in Jail for the last five years. Because you changed so much, you hurt me Jimmy. You yelled and pushed. You got so crazy, and you promised to get help!"

I want to barf "I couldn't keep making up excuses anymore. That night, I was so glad when they took you away. It took me months to recover from what you did to me. I couldn't even leave my Flat for almost a month! I could hardly walk, the bruises on my face…I was so embarrassed."

My whole body is trembling, the look in Jimmy's is like fire but it feels good to say it to get it out. I'm shouting and part of me doesn't care who knows.

"And you say you came back here for me?" I shake my head, "Is that why you slept with Rory? In my bed? Is that why you…" oh, I'm so pissed, and I have adrenaline and I don't know what to do with it, "If you came back for me, why are you trying to fuck people I care about?"

"I…" he's shaking, "I wanted you. But you didn't want me back."

"And that's why-"

"You're a slut…Rose. You and Rory and… he's with that woman, and you. And you're… you're with him and-"

"Jesus Christ, Jimmy!"

All of a sudden he's on me, shoving me hard against the door, and when my back hits it, I actually hear a gasp on the other side.

I try and push him off, but he pins my arms to my sides.

"You're with them… and not me?" he growls.

Perfect. I wonder if they're all out there.

He doesn't kiss me.

But he wants to.

"Back off," I say, low and about as threatening as I can manage. I struggle to free myself.

I wonder how threatening that actually is.

"What changed?"

"Jimmy… Back. Off."

He looks at me. Blue eyes blaze like fire, his anger right at the surface.

I didn't even see it coming as his fist connected with my face, the sharp pain raided through me and the edges of my world was quickly going black.

I cry out, the pain is overwhelming.

He let me go for a second. I push off from the door.

"Oh god, Rose… I'm so sorry.

Only to be hit in the back by it a second later, being pushed forward onto my knees.

David.

"Okay, that's it!"

I stagger to my feet, and come around the door.

Jimmy and is staring at him.

David is surprisingly threatening. Legitimately.

"David?"

He doesn't look at me.

"You," he points at Jimmy who is about eye to eye with him, "If you ever lay a hand on her again, I will fucking kill you."

I can smell the testosterone.

I'm invisible to both of them.

I look into the hallway.

Yup. Just like I thought. The gang's all there.

Tony is right behind David looking just as scary.

Fuck!

"Fuck!"

No one pays attention to me.

"You want to… fight?" Jimmy's goading him stepping towards David slowly.

Please don't defend my honour. Even if that is the case… that's so sweet, but a bit embarrassing…

David turns his head to look at me for the first time, his eyes go wide.

My face must look really bad, I can feel my eye swelling and the dull throb in my cheek and temple.

Then like a shot Jimmy was knocked to the ground, the sound of a fist meeting a face doesn't actually sound anything like what you'd think it would. It's different than when you're the one being hit.

"You ever lay a hand on my Rose again, it will be the last thing you ever do. He growls his fist coming down again and again on Jimmy's face.

Tony's bouncing on his feet and waiting to jump in and help David.

"Stop!"

Mum's stalks into the doorway.

I can't move.

Except that I need to.

"Rory, get in there!" I hear from the hall.

"No! No-" Mum steps into the room.

Jimmy hits David.

This is really happening?!

I get in between them, putting myself in front of Jimmy and holding him back, because I feel marginally more confident that David wouldn't hit me.

And then Rory's there, pulling David back with an arm around his chest.

This is not real life.

Mom gets in front of Tony. Who is not trying to get his own swing into Jimmy.

"You. Room. Now."

Rory lets him go, and David shakes himself off like a dog and with a glare at Jimmy tromps out of the room Tony follows close behind him.

And then there was Jimmy.

My mother turns grey eyes towards him.

"I am so disappointed."

Oh! That is the worst. Cold, Mum!

"And you," she looks at me, "you didn't tell me any of that."

She's disappointed in me to.

His lip is bleeding, his face is bruised.

I realize I'm holding him against myself and immediately push him away.

"I think it might be best if you go," she says to him. She doesn't sound angry… in fact, she sounds unnervingly calm. Like she thinks this is really for the best. Observational.

"Where will I go?" he asks.

And I feel sorry for him. For, like, a second.

"I don't know," she says, still calm, "but you'll figure that out."

She sighs deeply and turns, seeing the four eager faces, eyes wide. Rory's breathing hard, and the rest are crowded together in the hallway, rubbernecking.

She shoos them, "Go on!"

They hesitate, but slowly turn and start to go. I follow.

"We need to talk, Rose Tyler," she says as I pass, "later."

OoO

"Well that's a cluster-fuck," Rory says sympathetically, falling into step by me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I- I'm fine, a little sore. Where's David?"

"He was in the kitchen," he says.

He's not there.

FUCKING JIMMY STONE! Life Ruiner!

Oh… wait…

I see the top of his head outside the kitchen window.

He's sitting on the back patio. Mickey is sitting next to him watching birds fly overhead.

Thank god!

I open the door and step out.

He doesn't turn around.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Pretty much all of it," he answers, still facing forward.

I stare at his back, which is curved forward.

"I didn't know you were…" he inhales, "That you and Rory…"

"Oh! No! We're not… never…"

"Hmm…" he exhales.

"No… he… Jimmy thought that we were. I just… I didn't correct him."

He makes a noncommittal noise in his throat, "And Jimmy…?"

"Is my ex. Yeah."

"The one and only?" he sounds tired.

I hate this.

"Yes."

We're both quiet for a while.

"I hate lying, Rose Tyler."

That's the first time he's ever called me that.

"I do, too."

He looks at me over his shoulder.

"I do it, sometimes, but I hate it."

I step forward, "You lie?"

"Everybody does," he frowns.

I feel jittery and sick from the adrenaline, and I sit down next to him.

Mickey gets up and walks over, wedging his head in my lap.

My hands are shaking.

He gingerly touches my cheek, I try not to wince, a sharp pain shoots up into my eye. I still lean toward him.

"Are you okay?"

I nod, feeling the tears burn behind my eyes.

"Here's the truth," I say, looking at Mum's gazebo, "I was never with anyone before Jimmy. We were together for about four years. He cheated on me… a lot. I never did. He's Bipolar, he refused to go on meds. Then he beat me really bad, over a fight that I can't even remember what it was about. When the cops showed up, he attacked them. He put one officer in the hospital, another needed stitches. I had three broken ribs, a hairline fracture on my right arm, and cheek, my eye was swollen shut for almost three weeks. He was sent to jail for six years, but apparently got out for good behaviour. I hadn't seen or heard from him for five years until… until about twenty four days ago. And he's a mess. And I don't feel anything for him… except maybe secondhand embarrassment and pity and… some responsibility because, I mean, I did care… I did love him, and he did... sleep with Rory. Thinking that, that he was..." you "Who I was interested in... and so... when he... with you? I..."

He nods, and looks down at his feet.

"And as far as Rory goes… I have never slept with him. He kissed me once," his eyebrows go up, "but it lasted about five seconds and…" I laugh, nervously, "and he did it so that I wouldn't be as nervous as I was to… kiss you. That night. On Halloween."

He's quiet, "You didn't have to tell me that."

"I know," I swallow and tell the truth, again, "I wanted to."

"Hmm."

He shifts his weight, leaning towards me, and pulls out his wallet.

It's a battered old leather thing that looks like it's about ready to crumble.

He holds it in his hands, staring at it thoughtfully for a minute.

Then he hands it to me.

It's warm from his body.

I don't open it.

"What…"

"Who I am? That's in there. Or, at least… the paper trail of who I am."

John.

He just handed John to me.

I open it up. It's very tidy but very full.

His driver's license is there behind a tiny cracked window of semi-transparent plastic.

John. D. Smith. M.D.

Organ Donor

6'2"

165 lbs

Born: 2/14/1980

Eyes: Brown

Hair: Brown

"You're 6'2?"

He shifts, spreading his feet further apart and laughing quietly, "That's what you noticed?"

"Well…" I look at him, "I already… I mean… I knew about the name."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well, kind of." I explain. About Whole Foods... "I don't know… why."

There's the sound of a door slamming inside and we both turn to look.

Oh, that.

"Crap."

I look at his driver license again, and smooth out the plastic with my thumb.

He's younger in the picture. And his hair is darker and short.

And… he's so different from the man sitting next to me.

"I…" he presses his elbows together between his thighs, "You're the first person I want to tell," he smiles at me, and I see the faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes for the first time, "but maybe you should go see what's happening in there."

I'm torn.

I want to…

I should.

But…

"Please don't disappear."

I'm scared that he will.

I'm holding his wallet in my hands.

And I feel like if I give it back, he'll run.

"I won't. I promise."


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I wasn't expecting such an amazing response to the last chapter. WOW, I am genuinely humbled by how amazing you all are, thank you all so very much.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I feel raw.

Perforated.

I want to cry.

I feel like I need to know where everyone is. At all times. That we're all water spiders on the surface and everything is fragile and if one of them slips now we're all going under.

I'll cry later.

"Tony?"

I knock on his door and it opens a little.

He's sitting on his bed with a bag of frozen peas beside him on the bed.

Mum's been here. She knew I would check on him.

"Hey."

"Mmph," he says, looking up at me.

"I…" I close the door, "You okay?"

He shrugs. Grabbing the peas handing them to me. "Better than you are right now. Lemme see?"

He stands looking closely at my face, my face is still throbbing, and it's becoming harder to see out of my right eye. He rests the peas on my swollen cheek.

"Does that hurt?"

"Yeah, it will be okay though… I've had worse."

He snorts, he looks more upset than he's letting on.

"Have you ever punched someone in the face?"

"You know I haven't."

"It hurts," he re situates the peas, "but you'll live."

I bite my lip, and then we sit on his bed.

"Is Mum livid with me?"

He laughs, then sniffs and rolls his shoulders in a manly like fashion, "Yeah."

"I figured, I haven't seen her yet…"

"Why didn't you tell us what he did, Rose. You should… I would have…"

"No…" the back of my head hurts, "I couldn't, I didn't want too.."

"Punch Jimmy in the face?" his eyebrows shoot up and he looks at me like I'm a moron, "Because he needed a punch in the face. If David hadn't jumped in before me…"

I look at him directly. Tony has always been kind of a mystery to me.

I feel like I'm meeting him for the first time.

I mean, I've known him every day of his life.

But… I'm meeting him today.

Right now.

"Sometimes," he says to me, slowly so that I'll understand, "people are really stupid. And the only way to snap them out of it, is to punch them directly in the hard parts of the faces. He shouldn't have hit you Rosie… I don't care if he's sick."

I laugh, "So it was for his benefit?"

"Partly, yeah, and for you. And for Mum. Because that's fucked up."

"Yeah," I nod, "That is fucked up."

"I liked Jimmy," he says, "I thought he's a nice guy. I've always liked him."

Tony met Jimmy for the first time when he was ten. He has known him, then, for just about half his life.

"But he's got problems."

I nod in agreement and stare dumbly at my knuckles.

"You know what Dad told me?"

Tony hardly ever talks about Dad.

"What?"

"About… people. You meet people when you're supposed to meet them. And, that… sometimes people find you when they need to… and that it's never a mistake. And you… even if you hate them, if they turn out to be a real fuck up-"

"Dad did not say 'fuck up,'" I smile.

"No. He said some weird little English version of 'fuck up' that sounds less offensive to us but is actually way more offensive," he smirks, "but… even if they end up being a fuck up and you hate them and you feel like your life would have been better if you hadn't met them… you were always going to. And you needed to. And that all the fuck ups you meet just, make you who you need to be for the person that you'll meet eventually who… isn't a fuck up."

"Dad told you this?" I look at him sitting there, cross-legged, adjusting the bag of peas higher up on my face. His box of porn spilling out onto the bed next to him… and he's, like, a sage. Spouting wisdom that I've yet to grasp in twenty-five years of living.

He's like a porn-strewn Siddhartha.

"Yeah. He explained where babies came from and then, that."

"Wise man."

He makes a quiet agreeing sound in his throat.

"Have you ever been in love?"

He grimaces at me, "Uh, yeah."

"Tegan? Why didn't you tell me this!"

"Because… I'm not you? Or Mum."

"Ouch."

He laughs.

"I think he'd be really proud of you, Tony."

"Yeah?" he mulls this over, "He also taught me how to throw a punch, so…" he smiles, "Yeah, maybe. David is a good guy Rose, you deserve to be happy with someone like him."

OoO

Jimmy is… gone.

Which is bizarre.

And it feels like… I don't know.

I'd say it felt like having a limb chopped off, but that's giving him too much credit. He wasn't a limb of mine any more.

Mum is sequestered in her room.

I am pleased to discover that everyone else is in the kitchen, working away under the supervision of Amy who actually really has a knack for… supervising.

They make me want to cry. Again.

They're in there like friendly woodland creatures in a Disney movie, cheerfully cooking Thanksgiving dinner.

I kind of loom in the doorway watching them for a minute.

David hasn't come inside.

He's still sitting on the patio.

But at least he hasn't run away.

Mickey is still beside him.

Clara stops what she's doing when she sees me and comes over, forcing me to bend my head down enough for her to look at it.

"What are you doing?" I say, looking at her feet.

"Your bedroom door is cracked," she says, parting my hair with her fingers, "He slammed you into it really hard. Is your head broken?"

"No, I don't think so!"

She prods for a little bit.

"Oww!"

Okay… there is a lump.

"You're fine," she sighs, then kisses the lump briskly and lets me go.

"It had to happen, Rose," she says, "You need to talk to your Mum."

"I know…"

She gives me a look and then goes back over to join Tegan in the making of biscuits.

Rory looks up at me from an enormous pot of mashed potatoes.

"Will you…" my throat sounds all tight and thick and weird, and I'm staring at David's curved back through the window.

Rory looks at the window.

"I don't think he's going to make a run for it, Rose," he says very softly, "If he was going to, I think he'd already have done it."

He gives me an encouraging smile.

It helps, a little.

I squeeze his arm and he, in return, taps a finger against my friendship bracelet with a goofy little smile.

OoO

I seek out Mum.

It feels like a quest.

I should have downed the mimosa that Amy offered me. For fortification.

She's in her room, sitting at the desk under the window.

It's a stained-glass window. She used to make them all the time, claiming that it was her one artistic inclination.

It's beautiful.

Falling autumn leaves.

I wish she still made them…

"Mum?"

She looks over her shoulder at me.

And sighs.

A Mum-sigh.

"I'm sorry."

I mean it.

"Sweetheart…" she shakes her head, "I'm so pissed at you."

I sit on the trunk at the end of her bed, "I know…"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

I'm losing that fight to not cry.

But I guess if you're going to cry in front of anyone, it's okay if it's your own mum, right?

Who am I kidding? I cry all the time.

I've cried during every Pixar movie.

In the theater.

Even Cars.

"Because I let it go on for so long. It was…" I shrug and keep my shoulders up, "my fault. And… I didn't think…"

"Hey," she gets up and comes in front of me, kneeling down and looking up at my face, "I just wish I'd known so that I could have eviscerated that little twat years ago."

I laugh and cry at the same time.

I'm gross.

And still wearing pajamas.

And I'm sweaty.

"Rose," I look at her, "I love that you have such a big heart. I've always been so proud of your capacity to just… love, and your Dad was too… but we also worried about you because of that big heart. It just… it hurts me to know that someone," she sighs, "Well… I wish I'd known."

Carefully she removed the now soggy bag of peas from my swollen eye. Her frown deepens, and my heart sinks.

"I'm sorry," I wipe my unbruised side face with my hand.

"You're okay?"

"I don't know…"

She looks at me analytically, "You said… you were worried about catching-"

"Mum!" I exhale, and try to rein it in, "Yes. I'm fine. I'm… perfectly healthy."

"When your dad and I were young, it was different. Anything you might catch you could cure with an antibiotic. So… while you didn't especially want to get syphilis…" she smiles, mischievous, "Your Dad had syphilis once."

I explode; I laugh so hard I can't breathe.

"What?! Why are you telling me this?!"

She's laughing too, "He gave it to me!"

"What?! That's hor-horible!"

She's wiping tears from her eyes, "It brought us closer together! He came up to me one day and said," she always does his accent and inflection so perfectly, "'Jac's, love. I have to tell you…' We went to the clinic together! Ahh!"

The laugh turns into a giggle and then starts to ebb all together.

After a minute she looks up at me, patting my leg, "Hey, help me up."

I offer her my hands and stand up, pulling her with me.

Her knees crack and pop.

She hugs me around the middle and I hug her back.

I look over the top of her head. In her walk-in closet, she still has a few of Dad's things hanging up. Shirts. His jacket. I really want to go over there and bury my face in the jacket and see if it still smells like him.

"More importantly," she says, "your heart is okay?"

I nod.

"It's good, Mum."

"Is David still here?"

I nod.

"That's good, Sweetheart, he rescued my baby girl. Even though I hate violence, to know he would protect you like that." she pats my back. "He's a good man Rose."

OoO

As it turns out, my mother gave Jimmy an undisclosed amount of money, to be paid back as soon as possible, and set him off on foot to the Bus station.

I…

I don't know.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore.

Who am I?

I took a two minute shower, cried a little and put on real jeans and now… I'm in my car, about ten minutes from the house, and I see him there on the side of the road walking with his backpack on.

What am I doing?

I pull next to the curb.

He stops walking and glares at me through the car window.

"Get in."

He doesn't for a second. Just stands there, hating me.

But he gives in.

"What?"

He's sitting there in the passenger seat staring forward.

I pull away from the curb and drive to the only place I can think of.

But the shop is closed.

We sit on two tables outside far away from each other and don't say anything for a long time.

"I need an ending to this. And that can't be it."

He looks at me, "Oh, really?"

"Yeah."

Closure. I don't think I'm going to get any… but I need to try.

"You're a fucking mess."

He laughs and rubs his jaw, his lip is split and is sporting a nasty black eye. "No shit?"

"That? What the hell was that?"

He thinks for a minute, then says with clarity, "I think that was what they call rock bottom."

I laugh, bitterly, "I think you're right."

There is no affection here.

Tony had called me a good many horrible names when I left the house, saying that I needed to do this. I wouldn't be long.

And I wouldn't be.

But I also wasn't finished, here.

With him.

Tony was pissed, but he said he'd cover for me anyway.

And I trust him to do so… because Tony is a great liar when he wants to be.

Unless he was lying to me about lying for me.

Dammit.

I'm going to choose to believe that everyone else thinks I'm just out, clearing my head.

And I am.

"I'm…" he sniffs, and exhales slowly, "I'm sorry."

"You know, I've heard that before…"

He glances at me, then away, "I know."

"This?" I gesture back and forth in the space between us, "This is done."

It really is.

"I know."

"I don't want to see you again."

He nods, "I understand."

"And…" I sigh, "I hope that you figure out what you're looking for."

His mouth tightens, "Let me ask you this… what do you think I should do?"

"What?"

"Should I… should I go back to her? Or… should I go back to my…"

He swallows.

"Your family?"

He nods.

His sister died almost a decade ago and he's never really dealt with it.

Or with them.

"It shouldn't be my call, Jimmy."

He doesn't look at me, "I know. Just… your opinion?"

"Go back to your family."

He nods.

"Figure that shit out."

He laughs unhappily.

"And then… if you want to be with her or a him, do that. If you want to be… gay or, or bi… whatever… do that. Just…"

I stand up.

With keys in my hand.

I'm starving.

And there's turkey at home.

The Bus station is near here.

I'm done.

This is as much closure as I'm going to get.

And I got it.

I suddenly feel as enlightened.

I met him when I needed to.

And he met me when he needed to.

It was always going to be like this.

Because we needed each other.

And now we don't.

"Goodbye, Jimmy."

"Goodbye, Rose."

OoO

"This is amazing!"

I'm going to explode.

I've eaten so much… but I can't stop.

"Rory, pass me the gravy. Who made the gravy?"

He passes me the gravy, which is amazing, "Clara did."

"Clara!" I pour liberally, "That's it. You're the Gravy Master."

"Oh, stop it," she waves her hand at me but smiles like the Cheshire Cat.

When I came home, dinner was on the table.

Candles were lit and wine was being poured and it was just… perfect.

They are magical woodland creatures, these friends of mine.

Rory is a fox.

And Amy… she's a sexy lady beaver.

Er… not, no… not like that… like, an actual beaver.

Clara is a bunny.

Tegan is a porcupine.

And Tony is a Horse.

We have established that David is a wolf.

Incidentally, I also came home to a house full of friends and family who had gathered together and smoked a healthy amount of pot.

Everyone.

Including Mum.

Tegan, who I no longer have any doubts about whatsoever besides the whole vegan thing and the hair… had just an enormous amount of very expensive weed in her backpack.

And even though everyone was already very comfortably high when I arrived, there was more than enough left for me.

It was a Thanksgiving miracle.

God bless Tegan.

God bless us, everyone.

"This is," I wash down an absolutely perfect mouthful of food with some sparkling water, which is also just incredibly delicious, "the best meal I have ever eaten!"

Rory is the first to start laughing at that.

Sitting across from me, he throws his head back and can't stop.

That Rory has a great and infectious laugh.

And that great laugh kicks off a chain reaction around the table.

It's unstoppable.

"Ugh!" Amy laughs, grabbing Rory's arm with one hand and her stomach with the other, "I'm so full!"

I look at David, who is sitting next to me, his elbows on the table on either side of his cleared plate, his face in his hands, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

And my heart, which has been doing better and better, feels really, really good.

I realize that my hand is resting on his thigh only when he drops the arm closest to me and turns his face toward me, cheek resting on his hand, the other arm still propped on the table.

No one else sees this.

No one else knows.

They're talking and laughing and eating.

They don't see the way he tries, and fails, to hold back a smile.

"I think!" Mum is wiping her eyes, and she clears her throat, "I think that this had the potential to be our worst Thanksgiving… but…" she stands up and pours more wine into Rory's glass and her own, "I'm going to do a toast… refill your glasses!"

Everyone reaches for bottles and starts pouring.

David reaches for a bottle, refilling both our glasses.

I begrudgingly move my own hand away, and pick up my glass.

"Okay," she looks at everyone, individually, "but against all odds, it has been one of the best I've ever had. And. I think that's because of all the fabulous friends who have joined us. I am thankful for you all," she's drunk and high and it shouldn't be so adorable but it really is, "and… I am thankful for ganja."

Everyone laughs and a few of us applaud, throwing out hearty 'Here-here's!'

She raises her glass, "To friends and ganja!"

It's ridiculous.

But it's also perfect.

It's Thanksgiving.

OoO

No one is in a state to drive anywhere after that.

And it's foggy as hell again.

We put away leftovers and load up the dishwasher and exhaustion hits not long after that.

And the house, and everyone in it, finally settles by around midnight.

Tegan stays over after calling her family to say that it was just too foggy to send a driver out, and falls asleep on the futon downstairs, which is where everyone else is now, in some hodgepodge assembly of sleeping.

Mum asked me if I wanted her to smudge my room.

Here's the thing about my mum; she's a hippie. Occasionally, I think she forgets that she is a hippie. However, a little bit a weed and she really, really remembers.

She lit the little sage stick and smudged my room while David and I leaned in the hallway watching her.

She had gone in there after our conversation, when I left the house to 'clear my head,' and cleaned the room, swapped out the bedding and opened up the windows.

When she's done smudging and announces that the negative energy had been sufficiently cleared out, I peek in. It does feel more like my room, I'll give her that.

She kisses my cheek, "Good night, sweetheart. Happy Thanksgiving."

She touches David's forearm lightly and says the same thing to him before taking her sage and going back into her room.

We go in together.

I sit in the computer chair, and he sits cross-legged on my bed.

I smile at him, feeling suddenly really sleepy and stretch my legs out so that my heels rest on the edge of the mattress.

"What a day," I shake my head.

He grins crookedly and dips his head, "Yeah."

I rub the lump on the back of my head absently.

"I think I want to move the furniture around in here?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah."

I do.

I don't know why.

I don't know why I do anything anymore.

He stands up, unfolding his legs and surveys the room.

It's pretty sparse. A lot of the really embarrassing teenage stuff is gone packed away in my place. My books are still here. I see Lord of the Rings there and I remember the feeling of that particular book in my hands like a muscle memory.

He helps me push the furniture around, so that the bed is against the opposite wall, the desk under the window, and it does feel better.

Different.

I sit at the foot on the bed, and he sits next to me.

And I know that we came in here to talk.

Because we have things to talk about.

We really do.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"Sleep with me."

He looks at me, blinking slowly, "What?"

"Not… I just mean," I shake my head, "Just sleep."

"Do you want to..." he leans back on his elbows, "talk?"

"I do."

"But not right now?" he smiles.

"I'm… it's been a long, long day."

"It has been, yeah."

"I'm not… I'm not all present right now."

"Yeah, I'm not either."

"I am…" so sorry about everything "I'm so glad you didn't leave."

He laughs, and coughs into his hand, "A couple of years ago, I would have."

"Yeah?"

He nods, "But now?" he shrugs, "I'm older and wiser, I guess."

I think you're brave.

"I'm glad!"

"Hmm."

"So… you're… John Smith."

It sounds so strange and so feels so good to say.

His jaw tightens but quickly relaxes, "Yes."

"Can I…" I lean forward, "Can I see it again?"

He nods, and after a second pulls his wallet out of his back pocket.

He opens it up and pulls the driver's license free and passes it to me, I held it between two fingers.

"You want to see mine?"

He laughs, "Sure."

I pull my own wallet out of my pocket and hand it to him.

He looks at me and opens it up. It is stuffed with old unimportant receipts and movie ticket stubs and business cards for people I don't remember meeting or dentists I don't go to.

He slides my driver's license out with his thumb and closes my wallet, setting it on the bed behind him.

He laughs softly, "Your birthday is December 24th?"

"Christmas Eve. Yeah."

I look at my picture, which is ancient; I'm sixteen and ridiculous in that picture.

Why am I wearing so many necklaces?!

"Not very recent," he says, leaning forward now, his elbows on his thighs.

"Neither is yours."

"No," he glances at his own picture in my hands, "I get a lot of double takes, but, I don't really get carded anymore."

"You do have really amazing hair."

"I do."

I look at younger David in the picture. He still has the scar on his chin. But his hair is totally short and darker his face is narrower, sharper.

"I let it grow out when I was twenty-five. Over the course of a year."

"I like it."

"Twenty-five was a rough year."

"Were you…" he looks at me, and I still feel him in my lungs, "were you David or John then?"

He bites the inside of his cheek, "I was David. I tried to be John, after… for a while… but…" he shakes his head, "you can't go home again."

"I don't…"

He licks his lips, lightly bending my license in his hands, "I grew up John Smith. The man I… dated, my…" he clears his throat, "he gave me a different name."

"David."

He nods.

"So… that was my name. And when I came here, time had gone by and... I'd traveled. I thought I'd try… maybe… maybe I'd go by John again. I tried it," he narrows his eyes, and he doesn't sound sad… just… contemplative, "but I wasn't John. For better or worse, I'm not him anymore. Except for, you know, legally."

My brain tries to hold on to this, "He… renamed you?"

He nods.

I don't get it.

I don't understand.

"It's a long story. I will tell you. But not tonight, yeah?"

"Yeah."

We're both sitting there at the foot of my bed, still holding each other's licenses.

"I want to sleep with you."

My whole body clenches involuntarily, every muscle I have.

He smiles at me, just cheeky enough that I know he knows what that statement did to me.

"Just sleep."

"Uh-huh," my mouth is completely dry, "right! Yes."

I lend him another set of Tony's old clothes to sleep in. He changes in the bathroom while I change in my room.

Part of me thinks this is a dangerous game we're playing, sleeping in an actual bed together, in an actual bedroom without chaperones… but the other part of me is so very comfortable when my body hits the mattress and the bed is warm and smells like Tide and me and David and weed that I start to almost immediately sink into blissful unconsciousness like a stone and I don't care what that first part thinks.

I am informed in the morning that I didn't toss or turn that night either.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: HAPPY THANKSGIVING, to all my Canadian readers. Thank you so very much for the amazing reviews. I wasn't going to update today, but so many people are so anxiously waiting I just had to update sooner.**

**Your reviews really help with the writing process, thank you all so much. I do plan on responding to all the wonderful reviews, but it may take me a little. I have a lot to catch up on.**

**Thank you all. Enjoy!**

* * *

When I shifted just a little, he wakes up. Immediately.

It was still dark. Pre-dawn. He mumbled with a sleepily smile that I am a liar; I didn't toss and turn.

Then, much to my surprise, he fell asleep again, flat on his back with his arms crossed, that's how he sleeps… really. It boggles my stomach-sleeper mind.

The house is still quiet. Still. It's early, and my work-set internal alarm clock is fully engaged. Dawn happens gradually.

I have today off, though, thank God.

Meanwhile, despite my exhaustion or maybe because of it, I'm wide awake.

I'm not sorry though.

I'm not sorry to still be awake.

Because I can…

I smile, and cover my mouth out of habit, even though the only person in the room with me is 100 percent asleep.

I'm being such a creeper right now.

Watching him sleep?

Who does that?!

Apparently I do.

Details that I never noticed are just there in that amazingly clear early-early-morning light.

I see his smooth lines.

But… not, not the scars.

To be honest, I don't even see them really, unless I'm looking for them.

I just see him.

The lines of him.

The narrow slope of his cheekbone.

The deep, deliberate creases under his eyes.

The thick curve of his bottom lip.

An almost invisible hairline scar where his throat meets his shoulder.

Skin.

Clavicle.

The smooth knots of his knuckles, the valleys between them… this strangely sexual detail that of course I'd never see when he's awake because his hands are always moving or buried in pockets or…

I want to crawl over and kiss the dip between his first and second knuckle.

I want that.

Would that be too weird?

Yeah. I think it would be.

I have not yet achieved the go-ahead for I'm going to wake you up in my mum's house my making out with your hand from him.

I don't want to be rude… and jumping to that seems…

Rude.

I close my eyes and just play it out in my mind instead…

I hold myself over him.

Careful.

Cautious.

I kiss, there, my nose between and against his fingers.

And the skin between those two broad, round bones is soft, impossibly smooth and I'd feel all of that, because I feel like my lips have never been this sensitive before.

Like I've spontaneously grown new nerves and I feel everything more.

I open my mouth, and when I taste him with the tip of my tongue, he flexes, curling his fingers into his palm and open up that space more.

Not a fist, an invitation-

He grunts quietly and shifts and I feel like he caught me perving on his hand and keep my eyes shut and pretend to be asleep, just in case.

I'm exhausted but happy as I listen to him breathe and…

And I fall asleep again and don't wake up until around 11:30.

But I feel like I just closed my eyes to fake being asleep for a second!

I open my eyes. David's gone.

I drag myself over to the side of the bed that my brain optimistically and automatically proclaims his side and bury my face in the pillow he used (now, his pillow).

And I breathe in the smell of him, his head, his skin, his hair.

And he opens the door, fully dressed.

"Uh.." let's pretend I'm not clutching your pillow to my face and, oh god, was I groaning?

"G'morning."

I try to play this off as a stretch. I yawn like a cartoon character.

He smirks.

"They sent me in with coffee," he sets one of mum's turkey-shaped ceramic mugs on the nightstand, "and to make sure you hadn't died in your sleep."

"No, no… I'm alive," I reach for the mug, "just… worn out."

"Hmm."

I sip, "Sorry that I…" slept-in and left you to the experience of a morning with my family without me there "uh…"

"It's fine. Your, uh… Tony's up. He's been a good, umm…" he smiles, "liaison."

I laugh. God bless you, Tony.

"And the others?"

"Work. They're gone."

"Ahh," I'm Wingmanless.

When he sits on the edge of the bed, I don't care that I'm flying without supervision.

"I, uh…"

I stretch out and set down the turkey.

"I should probably get home. Soon. You know. Change my clothes." He smiles.

"Oh, yeah! Shit! I'm sorry," I throw off the covers and roll out of bed, "I'm your ride! I'm…"

Thoughtless! I've stranded him here... with my family.

I grab my jeans and discarded black sweater.

I mean, I guess if he really needed to, he could have gotten a ride with Rory or Amy or-

Wow, crap, it's cold this morning.

And…

Oh, god.

I pulled off the t-shirt I slept in without thinking clearly and feel really, incredibly exposed in the three or four seconds it takes to pull the sweater over my head.

He's watching me and his eyes are dark.

Hands on the bed by his hips.

Fingers curled in towards his palms and I can't see anything except the valleys between his knuckles.

I'm holding my jeans in my hand.

His dark eyes find mine.

"Sorry."

I shake my head, "No… uh…"

He looks away, at my bookshelf, with great focus.

"You, uh…" he clears his throat as I really quickly drop the sweatpants and hop into an unwelcoming pair of jeans that are holding onto the cold from the floor really well.

I zip up.

He looks over his shoulder at me.

I'm totally dressed, but I feel myself blush.

He smiles.

I guess that's how this works, right?

I'm experiencing a moment of clarity.

You forget.

And you strip something off, and they see you... and...

I mean, not just physically.

You forget and you strip something off emotionally.

And they see you.

I want to know.

I want to see, too.

I smile back.

One piece of clothing at a time.

I think that's just how this is going to work.

**OoO**

I drop him off and have every intention of going home and taking a shower and then sitting alone with my thoughts for a while, but Tony calls me and my plans change.

I do go home, though, to change and because, seriously, if I don't do something about this soon I'm going to go berserker… and nobody needs that.

So, post shower and in a fresh set of clothes and a clearer head and apply some makeup to my eye to cover the ugly bruise that's not as swollen as it was yesterday, I go back to Mum's.

We watch Muppet Treasure Island and eat turkey sandwiches.

Or… Tony and Tegan and I watch Muppet Treasure Island and stuff ourselves sick while Mum stares at me expectantly.

Like I'm just going to tell them everything.

Later, after a not-so-covert caucus in the kitchen, Tony asks me if I'll give Tegan a ride home.

I do. He naturally tags along.

I also bring Mickey.

And after we drop off Tegan at the gates of her family's estate, not a house, an estate that makes mum's place look like a hovel. He nonchalantly asks me if we can go to the park.

Sneaky, Tony, trying to get the dirt.

We sit on the bridge over the pond and dangle our feet into the air.

"So… you slept together?"

There are enormous koi in this pond and Mickey is completely enraptured by them.

I give her the Tyler-side-eye, "We slept."

"And…"

"Slept. Dreamed?"

"Mmhmm…" he looks away from me, dubious, "you've got to close the deal, Rosie."

That was unexpected.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. He's obviously interested in your… deal. He wants you to."

I swallow, "We're taking it slow."

One layer at a time.

He grins, beaming, and slaps my arm. Mickey ambles over at the sound and starts licking my hand protectively, "I think you might actually not screw this up, Big Sister!"

"Yeah?" I laugh and lean back on my hands, "Why's that?"

"You sound confident. It's new. It… suits you."

After that affirming sibling moment, we're quiet for a while.

Until he asks me to take him and Tegan to The Bone Pit, the gay bar on the coast. By the quarry.

"It's so gross!" I grimace, "Why?"

"It'll be fun! Amy was talking about it last night…" he shrugs, I feel like I missed something in the basement last night… "It's 18 and over, we can all go… like… a big group date."

He smiles innocently, but I'm suspicious, "Group date, huh?"

"Yeah!"

"At The Bone Pit?"

"Yeah!"

"How classy. Wait- why would Tegan want…"

He blinks, fast, "She's… open to things."

"What?"

"She's open-minded."

I don't know why, but I agree to this.

A part of me does actually think it would be fun.

I text David.

I ask him, politely, if he'd like to join me and my friends, and my baby brother, at The Bone Pit tomorrow night.

**Ha. Sure.**

So… there's that.

There's always The Bone Pit.

**OoO**

Into every life a little Bone Pit must fall.

It might be unsurprising, but this really isn't my thing anymore.

Clubs. Bars.

I use to love it, sneaking out with friends dancing all night, than sneaking back in. It's simply too much not, I think.

I'm not that girl anymore.

That kind of jaunty, overly-articulated swinging and bobbing?

Yes.

Accurate.

I spent too much time staring into the depths of my closet and came up with nothing exciting.

So I went with a white low cut t-shirt and jeans.

Exciting, right?

I pick up David first. He's wearing a pretty standard David look; Black button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, black pants, and black trainers.

"Are we really going to The Bone Pit?" he asks me, standing in his doorway.

"Yes," I cringe, "I'm already sorry."

He smirks, "Give me a second, yeah?"

He lets me inside and walks back into the shallow nook that houses his bathroom. I listen to him brush his teeth.

The place looks the same. Comfortably deconstructed.

There is a huge mess of cut matting and Exacto blades and straight-edges on his table, and next to that a very tidy stack of framed photographs.

"Are these for Harkness'?"

He pokes his head out of the bathroom, leaning back, "Yeah."

Fuck, he's good.

The top framed photograph is black and white, a roll of steam over black craggy rock.

The light in this is… unreal. Ridiculous.

Amazing ridiculous.

"Iceland?"

"Yeah."

He's there, next to me.

"How long did you live there?"

He shrugs, "Long enough."

"Do you speak Icelandic?"

He kind of chuckles and peels away from me.

"You do! Oh my god… I don't even know what Icelandic sounds like."

Ask him to say something.

My brain spins in a lurching, Muppet-like fashion at the possibilities.

David's lived in a lot of places.

Places with a lot of different languages.

And he's effing brilliant, which means…

We're in the hall, and he locks the door.

"How do you say hello in Icelandic?"

"Halló?."

"Oh."

The accent, though?

We walk down to the car.

"How do you say goodbye?"

"Bless," he humors me.

"How do you say," I unlock the car doors and we get in, "'My hovercraft is full of eels?'"

This earns me a genuine, full-chest laugh.

I caught him off guard.

I can't look away from him.

His smile…

"Uhh…" he thinks, concentrating seriously, "I don't think I know the word for… hovercraft. In any language, actually."

"Other than English."

"Ha. Clearly," he watches me as I drive, "let me get back to you on that, okay?"

"Sure, yeah," I grin goofily, "But I really do need to know. It comes up. More than you'd think."

"I'm sure."

I continue to ask him Icelandic vocabulary until we reach Mum's.

I'm DD tonight. The Bone Pit is 18 and over, but serves alcohol. And it's a long way out there. If my baby brother's involved, I'll be damned if I don't make sure he gets home safely.

Tony and Tegan are waiting for us on the porch.

So… you know… sober night at the gay club.

Woo.

**OoO**

Basically, The Bone Pit sits near the edge of the quarry like something out of Mad Max. Or that bar in From Dusk Till Dawn.

But it's busy. Surprisingly popular. I'm legitimately surprised.

It's not that I have anything against gay bars in general, I really don't. I use to go to one downtown a lot. It's just the Bone Pit, it's not the cleanest place in town.

There's a line outside against the crumbling brick exterior. Rory, Amy and Clara are standing near the door and I feel the bass from the music inside in my chest.

Amy waves us over, "It's a Foam Party! Foamsgiving!"

"What?"

Rory's smirking and looking cold in a white t-shirt, "I can't believe you're here. It's so out of character!"

"Yeah, yeah…" I look at Amy, "It's a what now?"

"Foam party," she's a little glittery all over, in an apple-red tank and incredibly short shorts, "You're a little over dressed," she smiles at me and then at David, who is looking politely forlorn next to me.

"I'm… listen, Grandma here hasn't been out in a long time," I say, turning my head to look at the line which we are not in, "fill me in... what's a foam party?"

"Ahh! I'm so excited!" Clara grabs my arm, "They pump foam onto the dance floor. And you dance in it. And it's… slippery."

"Uh-huh."

"Old Woman!" Rory, who is decidedly older than me shakes his head at me, "It's fun, you'll like it."

A side door opens, "Come on!" Amy grabs his hand and Clara's.

The line grumbles behind me, "Wh-"

"I know the owner," Amy says, "Old friend."

The five of them slip inside quickly.

"Sorry!" I bend my head down and say to David.

He laughs, "It's not really my thing. But… it's not yours either."

"No!"

He scratches his chin and walks inside.

And I follow him.

**OoO**

Amy fawns over her old friend Alaric for a little bit while those of us who are well past 18 get carded and wrist-banded, while Tony and Tegan get carded and stamped with black-light ink X's on the backs of their hands.

The upside of Amy's connection to fancy-Alaric is that we get escorted to a little VIP room above the dance floor that has couches and tables and is separate from everything else.

The old woman part of me is seriously delighted to see sofa's.

I'm Rose. I'm twenty-five and I like to sit.

It's elaborate. Gaudy. It looks like the opera box where Lincoln was shot... if that opera box was, you know, a place that men also probably blew each other and drank cheap vodka.

More than that, though, the real decor worth mentioning is an enormous purple fiberglass dragon suspended over the dance floor.

Here, in the VIP lounge, we're at eye-level with the dragon.

Clara looks beyond delighted as she slips off her jacket.

"Clara?"

"Yeah, Rose?"

"What's happened to the back of your shirt?"

She shakes her head at me, "Prude."

There is no back of her shirt.

I see Rory look out of the corner of my eye.

He sees me and raises his hands innocently, shaking his head.

Tegan, wearing a very tight black v-neck, takes Tony's hand and leads him back down the stairs just as the lighting shifts and, oh god, really? A torrent of white foam surges out of the mouth of the dragon and onto the writhing dance floor below.

Rory and Amy cackle next to each other, genuinely and adorably excited, and then disappear down the stairs.

It's nuts.

Clara squeezes my arm, "It's a bit overwhelming, isn't it?"

I laugh, and shout over the music "Yeah! I think maybe that's a good word for it."

"I'm going to try it out!" she says cheerfully, "I've never danced in foam before!"

"Have fun!"

She glances at David quickly, then grins up at me, "You too."

She's a beautiful girl, our Clara.

She pats my arm sweetly and then darts away.

David and I stand near the railing, and I watch as Clara finds Rory and Amy, slipping towards them only to be caught by heroically by Rory.

"I don't suppose you want to…" I look at David sideways.

"Do you?" he's incredulous.

I shrug, "I don't know yet. I'm not… completely opposed."

He laughs, "Right now?"

"Mmm…" I grimace, "Maybe in a little bit."

He nods.

"Want to sit down?"

"I really love sitting," I say seriously.

**OoO**

The others materialize once in a while, dragging themselves up the stairs drenched and foamy to either just take a breather or drink something.

Apart from that, though, it's pretty much just David and I.

We end up having the longest conversation we've ever had up there.

_He's funny._

_Smart and sharp and funny._

_The sofas are set back further, with a wall partly blocking the room from the open dance space._

_I can't even imagine the things that have happened in here._

_It's probably best not to._

_Imagine._

_The illusion of privacy, you know?_

_We're both drinking water._

_When he found out I was sober, he decided to be sober as well._

We're sitting next to each other. I'm slumped low on the sofa, the back of my head resting on a particularly battered old bit of cushion.

Our thighs are pressed together.

"You old folks need to get out there," Amy puts her empty water glass down on a table.

The glitter has more or less been foamed off, and she's shiny and flushed.

"Oh, really?" I'm perfectly happy right here.

"Yes!"

David squints up at her, "How about this," I look at him, and he says wryly, "the next Lady Gaga song? When that starts, come get us."

"What?!" she's legitimately shocked, but not about to reject this offer, "Okay!"

"What?" I yelp.

He shrugs, "It's just foam."

I can't help it.

I smile.

Like an idiot.

Amy turns and leaves us, heading back into the fray.

"Who are you?"

He extends his hand to me, "David Smith, nice to meet you."

I take his hand, I'll play, "Rose Tyler." …Smith. I swallow. I like the sound of that.

He shrugs. Beaming at me.

Fuck that's hot.

"I used to do this," he slumps back into the sofa next to me, his shoulder against mine.

"Foam?"

He laughs, "No. That's new. But…" he gestures out, "clubs."

"Oh yeah? So did I once, I kind of… grew out of it I guess."

"Mmhm," he looks at me, "and I was not sober. This is the first time I think I've ever been sober in a place like this. It's…" he grins, "different."

"Yeah."

He rolls his head back, staring up at the velvet-draped ceiling, "I want to tell you."

Tell me?!

"Now? You want… you want to tell me now? At The Bone Pit?"

"It seems… oddly appropriate," his tone is light, not conflicted, not tortured.

Relaxed?

"I… if you'd rather not-"

"Yeah, I mean…" I sit up, "if you want…"

A new song starts and for a second I think it's Lady Gaga.

It's not.

"So…" the corner of his mouth curls, "he left me."

He looks at me.

This isn't a painful recollection for him, but I'm on edge.

Nervous.

This is new.

And, wow, this feels like the wrong place for this conversation.

But maybe that's why he's doing it.

Now.

Here.

Because it's safe in its wrongness.

But safe for which one of us?

I don't think it's him.

He looks fine.

No… this is for me.

"Harry left me behind. And that was the end. I had no choice. He decided it was over. And it was over."

"Uh-huh?"

"He, uh," he frowns, and says bluntly, "Shared me. With other people."

Fuck.

It's a brutal little word.

"Yeah," he gauges my reaction, which must be written all over my face.

_It's like he owned him…_

_I guess that means a lot of things to different people._

_Being someone else's._

_What he's described?_

_The scars… taking it to that level._

_They were… are... a brand._

_Permanent._

_I feel something tighten inside._

_He looks totally fine. Like it's nothing._

_Like he's over it._

"He decided who and when and where, he made me call him Master," he says quickly, "and the last time, he didn't come back for me. He'd found someone new. That's how it was with him. I'd replaced someone else before me. I wanted that. Hmm."

"Shit."

"Exactly," he drinks some water and says casually, over the music, "So there I am, twenty-four years old and… I've got nothing. No real skills, no money, nothing," he smirks, "And something just kind of, snapped. It was like I woke up. And I needed to go. I went back to his place when I knew he wouldn't be there, and I took about twenty-grand and forty-eight hours later I was living back home in London with Matt and going to collage."

"What?!"

"It was like, fight or flight kicked in. I chose flight... with a side of theft. Is that…" he's studying my face, "too much?"

I shake my head.

"You sure?"

I keep seeing the word shared run across my simple little brain like a stock market ticker.

"Do you think he'll... the money?"

He shrugs, "It was years ago. I don't know if he'd ever... if it matters to him. It's been years."

I sit there kind of stunned.

"Sorry, Jesus…" he sits up, shaking his head like he's trying to dislodge something. Something creeps in. Doubt. Regret, "I don't know why-"

I reach for him, holding his jaw with my fingers in his hair.

His mouth opens under mine.

"I don't know either," I say back, kissing him.

_Again, more._

_I pull him in._

_I pull him into myself, over me, onto me._

_We're in the dark on this manky sofa._

_In The bloody Bone Pit._

_But I can't not do this._

_Shared._

_I have to._

_I'm compelled to._

_The weight of his body on mine feels real._

_Grounding._

_And I wrap my arms around his waist._

_He lets me pull him in, hard, against me._

I gasp into his mouth and he swallows it.

"You're a thief?" I rasp.

He kisses me, demanding and unapologetic, and I feel something snap inside of him. Like an electric charge. He growls, "It seems that way."

"I'm into that," I say stupidly, my head feels light as he's pressing the air out of me, "I used to steal blocks from school."

He grinds against me, "Blocks?"

I throw my head back and groan, "Yeah... I was a klepto until the third grade. Ah!"

That groan turns into a whine when I feel his teeth on my throat.

Wolf.

Distantly, I hear Just Dance and I know that means something.

Something. What-

"Hey!"

He pulls back from me.

No… wait.

Come back!

"Don't mind me…" Amy's leaning on the banister, "you can keep doing what you're doing down there.

It's slippery. Foamy goodness!"

I hate her a little bit.

Just for a second.

My hands are still on his hips.

"Or… not."

"Do you want…" I don't sound like myself.

Deeper. Rougher.

"I set the terms," he sighs.

"Why did you do that?"

He shrugs, "I like to try new things sometimes."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah," he eases off of me and I follow him.

My legs feel unreal, mythical, but they somehow carry me down the stairs and into the foam.

Which it silly.

We're too old for this.

But my friends are there.

My family is there.

And with a shrug, David is there too.

It's the first time for each of us.

It's nice.

It's great.

It's strangely liberating and I secretly really like Lady Gaga and things are great…

Until I lose my footing and slip and hit the ground like a ton of rocks taking David with me.

"Ow."

Rory skids over and helps David up then me.

"You okay?" he shouts, hair stuck to the sides of his face, "It happens!"

I rub my elbow which really took the brunt of both of our falls.

David's standing with his legs set wide for balance and I laugh, "This is stupid!"

"Yeah, but it's fun!" Rory shouts back, and pushes me towards David before going back to Tony and Clara.

Rory's right.

He's totally right.

I kiss David, holding his face.

And he kisses me back.

"I'm glad you're here," I say, and I don't know if he can hear me because I don't say it very loud.

"Ah, fuck!"

_He slips again and, laughing, holds onto me to stay upright._

_I am only marginally more stable but my shoes have better traction or something and I keep us both upright._

_I don't know why he told me that tonight._

_And... I kind of do._

_I'm glad he's here._

_I'm glad we both got here._


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving yesterday. Thank you all so much, I haven't had a chance to get to the reviews, but I thank you all for them so very much. :) They really make my day better.**

**I've had a few people asking about wanting to see more Clara/Matt, I want to say that we will see more of them. I was thinking perhaps I might start a Clara/ Matt A/U once I have completed this one.**

**What do you all think?**

**Would anyone be interested in that? It will likely take place either during, or just after this one is finished, and follow the same timeline. **

**Let me know.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Where's Tegan?"

My ears are ringing and my shirt is plastered to me.

My eyes sting a little from the foam.

My elbow hurts like hell and so does my knee which took another blow in a different fall.

And my lips are swollen.

And I can taste David if I run my tongue against the inside of my lip.

God.

We're outside, all of us… except for Tegan.

Because we're responsible adults and we lost the mayor's only daughter in the gay bar.

Tony, who is huddling together with Clara for warmth darts back inside.

"I'll, uh… I'll go help," Rory says, pushing lank foam-wet hair back from his face.

"Rory?"

He looks over his shoulder at me as he walks to the door, "He, um, might not be able to find her… if she's…" he smiles, "I'm just going to help him look."

Amy, still in very little clothing, is shivering in his absence.

Clara quickly goes over to her and hugs her, rubbing her bare arms for warmth.

David's hands are buried in his pockets and he rocks back and forth on his heels.

He stays close to me.

I want…

I want to grab him and hold on to him, because I know now, I really know, how good that fit is. He's, like, the perfect height for me.

I smile.

The door opens and the three of them come out. Tegan looks wrecked, and Tony looks pissed.

"Someone made a new friend tonight," Rory says under his breath as he passes me to wrap long arms around the huddle of Clara and Amy.

I look at Tony.

He looks really upset.

And so does Tegan.

Huh.

"Okay, well," Amy says, poking her head under Rory's arm and looking at us, "This has been a lovely evening but now I'm freezing my tits off and there's a warm bath and a bottle of whiskey waiting for me at home, so..."

We say our goodbyes, Tony hugs me tightly. I'm taking him to the airport tomorrow so this is goodbye until his winter break.

"Is everything okay?" I whisper so only he can hear.

"I don't know yet…" He responds letting me go, walking towards the car Tegan follows behind him not looking at any of us.

I smile to myself in a way that I hope isn't completely obvious when Rory and David kind of clap each other on the arms… because… I mean…

They kind of both…

I mean.

They each mean a lot to me.

I…

Yeah.

I mean, if this is the Wizard of Oz, Rory's my Scarecrow.

I should tell him that.

The car is freezing cold when we get in, and I blast the heat.

I have a few thin blankets in the boot and I grab them before we drive off, letting Tony and Tegan have them, they sit far apart from each other. David kind of balls the other blanket in his lap.

I drop Tegan off at the estate, wondering if the mayor will care that his daughter is coming home drenched and disheveled and...

"Tony?" I say, driving slowly in the fog, "What, uh… what was…"

"She met someone," he says, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders like a shawl and snuggling into the seat staring out the window.

"And you're…" I glance in the rear-view mirror, "are you okay?"

He shorts, "I'll be fine..."

I'm worried about my baby brother. I can tell he's more upset than he's letting on. My impression about Tegan has changed completely in one night…

I…

I want to kick her ass for hurting my brother.

"Thanks for coming, Rosie," he mumbles wrapping the blanket tighter around himself.

I see the corner of David's mouth tug at that.

Perfect.

"You're welcome, Tony. It was fun. Not the last bit, but the rest was ridiculous, but fun."

I drop him off, popping in quickly to say goodnight to Mum. She's sitting and watching something French and subtitled.

David stays outside watching the stars.

I find him on the porch.

He exhales loudly and grins at me, "Rosie?"

"Oh, shut up," I take a step closer to him, and he chuckles.

"Not everyone can be as cool as you are… some of us get stuck with embarrassing nicknames made up by a three year old kid."

"It's not a bad thing," he says, pressing his lips together.

No. It isn't.

I buttoned my sweater against the cold before coming back outside.

He looks at my chest, "You missed a button."

I look down at myself. Decidedly off kilter.

"I did," I make no move to fix it.

I feel every muscle in my body, acutely and with a faint electric twinge, as he takes the last half step between us.

His fingers are quick, even on the damp stubborn fabric, unbuttoning my shirt with a familiarity that takes me by surprise.

I watch his hands as he re-buttons them from the bottom of the shirt up.

Neat. In order.

"How do you 'thanks' in Icelandic?" I'm breathing quick and shallow.

"Takk."

"Takk."

The porch light turns off.

We're standing there in the sudden dark.

And I feel his laugh.

**OoO**

We're both quiet on the drive to his place.

I'm driving slowly because of the fog.

So we're quiet for a while.

With no one here… no one in the backseat, and no foam, no dragons, no kissing… just us and our ringing ears and the radio turned on low…

It's like a buzz wearing off.

Shared.

Like, the dull ache of dehydrated sobriety.

Shared.

A headache, not quite a hangover yet.

Shared.

Stopped at a completely empty intersection, I look over at him.

He feels it too, I think.

But I can't really read him.

Not really.

I want to.

Shared.

I wish that younger me could have met younger him.

Maybe we both could have avoided-

But…

If we had, I don't know that younger him would have even been remotely interested in younger me.

I would never-

"Do you want to come in?"

His voice cracks the quiet just as the light turns green.

"Yeah."

He nods, and takes off his glasses, folds them and puts them in his lap, rubbing his face with his elbow resting on the door.

Yeah.

I do.

I hold on to the wheel tightly.

This is a thing…

He's not a fantasy.

He's not some kind of perfect… he's not perfect.

As much as I might think he is.

He's real.

And he's lived a lot more life than I have.

And don't know if I'd be as brave as him…

If I would tell me that.

Because now that it's just us, here, as much as I don't want to, I just keep hearing his voice say shared and seeing him hurt.

Seeing a different him hurt… the him that turned into this him, eventually. Over time.

And wondering…

What kind of person could do that to someone else?

What kind of person wants someone to do that to them?

I'm not… I just want understand.

And…

He reaches over and turns the radio up.

It's too quiet in here for him too.

OoO

"I, uh…" his head is down, walking ahead of me into the flat. His fingers turn on a lamp, "I don't know if I have anything that would…" he glances up, "fit you."

I pull at my shirt which is more or less dry, but uncomfortable and sticky.

"That's okay."

He won't look me in the eye.

"Hmm," he turns and digs through a drawer in a dresser wedged between the desk and the wall.

A long sleeved shirt that actually looks like it'll fit, and now swallow me whole.

"Sorry, I don't have any… pants."

Which is too bad, really, because my jeans are way more uncomfortable damp than my shirt is.

"It's fine… I'm fine."

He's not.

"I'm going to change," he says, rubbing his neck, "you can put something on, to watch or listen to, if you want…" he gestures at the computer as he turns, grabbing a different shirt and pants from a pile before going into the bathroom.

I wake the computer out of standby on and change my shirt while it whirrs to alertness.

The shirt fits pretty well actually. It would be tight on him.

It smells like him and cedar.

I want to keep the shirt.

I bend down to open his itunes because it is still so quiet.

His editing program is open.

I don't open it.

That's important.

That's an important detail.

It was open.

And it was me.

My face.

In black and white.

Here in this room, with my eyes closed and the back of my head against the wall.

It's me, talking about my dad.

And painting.

But it's me the way he sees me.

Better than real life.

The light… I don't know how he does that.

And even the random, hairs that stick out in my messy hair look good.

Right.

It's me through his lens.

My hands are shaking.

I breathe out slowly.

By the time I'm standing at the bathroom door, my hands aren't shaking anymore.

I knock.

"Yeah?"

"David."

"It's… it's open."

I push the door.

He's leaning against the sink, which is running, staring down at the water that's pooling against a stubborn drain.

And he's in a different pair of pants.

But his glasses are off.

And his shirt is wadded between his hand and the counter.

His skin…

His skin is perfect.

I see that more than the scars.

Which are everywhere and beautiful, artful, and curve with the lines of his body.

"Are you okay?" he turns the sink off, and looks at me.

I nod.

"Are you?"

He laughs and it echoes off the walls, "I generally am, yeah."

"Generally?"

He lets me see him.

"Yeah," he looks into the mirror, squinting and creasing wrinkles by his eyes, "Yeah, I am."

A muscle twitches below his arm, across his ribs.

"Does it bother you?"

I'm not sure what it he means and I don't know how to ask for clarification.

"I…" I lean my shoulder against the narrow door frame, "I like who you are."

A completely honest answer, that.

"Sorry that I…" he stands up, back straight, rigid, "It just felt like the right…" he shrugs, "I like who you are, too."

This feels like one of those big adult moments.

But… what's always weird about those moments is that it's never like it is in the movies… the actual moment is usually very still. Because when you start to grow up, the big things are the things that make you still.

"I'd really like to kiss you," I say, "I'd really like that."

He doesn't move.

Until he does.

Standing straight, his head towers over me.

When he looks down at me, close to me, his head falls forward and his throat is tight when he talks, "I haven't told anyone about that part of me in a long time. I wanted to tell you. And I'm glad I did."

I nod quickly.

"I'm not who I was then… I'm not the same person. I still have the same body, the same skin… but when I think about who I was, it's like seeing someone else's life. Not mine."

"I understand."

I think I do.

And what I don't…

I want to keep trying to.

He smiles, "Let's get out the loo, yeah?"

"It is a very small bathroom."

"It really is."

I turn and walk back towards the center of the main room.

He follows.

He pulls me back towards himself, and I immediately reach for his sides because all that skin is there for the first time, really there, and he's warm and smooth. And I need to touch.

His lips are warm, and wet, and familiar.

I love that they are familiar.

I love it so much, I moan.

And I feel the shift of muscle under skin and over bone as he twists between my palms.

Skin against skin and I sink into a fog. A David-Fog.

Because for the first time it's like there's nothing there between us.

I mean, literally.

Between my hands and his body there is nothing.

But… I mean, figuratively, too.

I think I understand.

I have… questions.

Concerns.

Comments.

But I think on some level I understand.

"You're so fucking sexy, Rose," he smiles, fingers digging into the back of my neck, pulling me back with him towards the bedroom.

I'm more than willing to follow, not at all willing to stop kissing him while I do, "thanks."

When the backs of his legs hit the mattress he pauses.

His eyes are black.

No glasses.

I smooth a finger over his eyebrow and his eyes close.

He sits after a couple of heavy breaths and I follow.

And with a mattress under myself and him next to me.

I don't know.

It real.

It's not in my head and it's not being screwed up.

And I'm not Rosie here.

I'm Rose and he's David.

I'm 25 years old.

He's 31 years old.

We were both born on holidays.

We were both kids.

We both grew up.

He's over me.

And we crash through that fence that separates sweet and dirty like it was nothing.

And it feels so good to crash.

His mouth, his lips, his tongue.

He pulls air out of me and then gives it back.

And he bites.

And I bite back.

His body is hard in places that mine is soft.

And he's smooth, with just enough hair on his chest to be sexy.

I falter and turn back into myself when he grabs the bottom of the shirt and pulls it up, trying to tug it over my head.

I pull back, scooting up with it bunched under my arms.

He's seen me.

He knows what I look like.

But we look so… different.

He looks, and feels so good, and I-

He follows me up.

And levels himself with me, in front of me, the mattress sagging where our four knees dig in together.

He looks at my face, and swallows, and takes the cotton of the shirt in his hands and carefully pulls up.

Up.

And I let my arms go up.

And he slides it off.

Off.

And he looks at me.

My face and…

Me.

And I wonder if he sees me now the way he did through that lens.

I hope so.

He slips his hands around me unclipping my bra, it slides off my shoulders his hands follow pulling it off.

He lays his hand against my chest, and settles it over my heart.

He smiles.

Dark wolf eyes and messy brown hair.

And his hand over my heart.

His body is radiating heat next to mine.

"I like this," he says, voice quiet and rough.

"I don't," I say quickly.

He frowns at me, and says with certainty, "You're ridiculous."

I reach for him.

I kiss him.

Mouth.

Cheeks.

Chin.

Jaw.

Ears.

Oh, he's into that.

Throat.

We lay back down, and he rolls on top of me again.

His hand cups and squeezes my breast, it's been so long I moan into his mouth, and he growls.

He drags fingers down my side.

Down to the waist of my jeans, goose bumps raise all over my body.

His touch is hot, searing.

I hold his jaw, and kiss.

My hand is against his throat-

"No."

He goes rigid.

And he roll off.

Fast.

Immediate.

Like he touched an electric fence.

I'm fried.

Like the kid in Jurassic Park.

I was clinging onto that fence and the power came back on and it said NO in a way that stopped my heart.

And I need a handsome paleontologist to breathe life back into me.

He looks away, propping himself up on his elbows, "I, um… I'm weird about the neck."

Heart has restarted. Without the handsome paleontologist.

He sounds like him.

Not, No.

That No did not sound like him.

"Sorry."

He looks at me, and smiles.

I can see his stomach rise and fall with every breath.

White scars curl against his skin.

And I hate them and I want them.

"You didn't know."

"So… don't touch the neck?"

He presses his lips together, "As a general rule. Yeah. Not… not with your hand."

"Okay."

He smiles weakly, "Kissing… kissing's okay."

"Okay?"

"Nice. Good."

"Okay."

He squints at me, "I don't want ruin this."

"Neither do I."

He laughs.

"I want to. Do this. With you."

I nod stupidly.

Miraculously, without any paleontological assistance my heart has completely restarted as is now hammering out of control.

"I don't know… if…"

"We can just…" I fold my hands, "pants stay on?"

He smirks, "I think for tonight, that's a good plan."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Is that… second base?"

"I was never really clear on the bases," I admit.

"I think, first base is kissing. Second is," he scans my torso, "touching. Pants on. Third is..." the smirk turns into a smile, "oral. And then…"

"And then… home?"

He laughs, "Yeah. Home."

"I'm… really okay with… adhering to those guidelines," I can't entirely talk around the huge amount of air trapped in my lungs.

"Okay. Okay," he nods, flicking hair out of his eyes, "So, we're good at second base?"

"Yes."

He nods.

"So… we kiss. Touch. And… pants stay on?"

"Yes."

He rolls up and over to me, kissing me very lightly, "Thank you, Rose."

"How do you say 'you're welcome' in Icelandic?"

"þú ert velkominn."

I laugh, "Yeah… that."

And we do that.

Kiss.

Touch.

He keeps his pants on.

And I keep my uncomfortable, damp, wet-tight pants on, too.

And I'm totally fine with that.

**OoO**

I love Harkness' for a lot of reasons, one of the biggest being that as much as a place that isn't home can, it feels like home.

Especially at night. After hours and clean and dark and cozy… It's inviting. I could sleep here if I needed to. Really.

I have napped in the storage before, once, spooning a bag a whole beans.

Clara covered for me.

But it's never felt more like home than it does right now.

Sitting with David with the doors locked and the shades drawn, our backs against the counter, eating a plate of whatever baked goods were left over at the end of the day.

And me saying just… completely insipid things without meaning to.

So while some things change…

"So… what did you mean?" the sound of his laugh always originates in some deep part of his chest.

I could listen to his laugh forever.

I love it because I feel it too… like… like a bass line.

He looks like a guy that loves to laugh, but doesn't.

But, I mean, he does. A lot. With me anyways.

"I…" I groan, "I meant that-"

He levels me with a critical little smirk.

And eyes that are more black than brown in the low light.

What are words?

"Oh, fuck it! Forget I said anything…"

He laughs again.

Over the last week, I've come to the realization that he's genuinely entertained by my inability to filter.

He's not just humoring me.

He thinks I'm funny.

And that's got to mean something significant.

"Hmm…" he's still laughing, and he presses his lips together.

"I didn't mean it like that," I lean forward, his focus slides to my face.

"I figured as much," he tilts his head up.

Shaking my head, I break off half of a cookie and pop it in my mouth and change the subject, "They look great."

He looks appraisingly up at the walls where eight of his photographs are framed and mounted.

"They do. Thanks for helping."

"Listen, I might not be good at a lot of things," I lick melted chocolate from the heel of my hand, "but I can hang things on walls like nobody's business. It's a gift."

I look up at his photographs. Cityscapes, landscapes, beautiful portraits of strangers.

His eye… the way that he sees the world through that lens… like he find these isolated moments of calm in a world that is anything but; it's beautiful and harsh, clever…

It's him.

He's watching me.

"I still can't believe you're completely self-taught," I say looking at this beautifully rendered collection of places he's lived, people he's known before.

Before me.

"I am part of the uneducated masses, yeah, so are you."

"That…" I glance at him sideways, "That doesn't matter. I'm not very good."

He reaches for the half of the cookie I left on the plate between us and raises an eyebrow at me, "I'm not sensitive about it."

"I didn't… I mean…" I sigh, "You're bloody brilliant."

In a way that can't be taught.

"How many languages do you speak?"

He swallows, "Huh?"

"I speak English. Most of the time," I laugh, "Most of the time I can speak it… and, like, enough Italian to find a bathroom and order food… but, that's it," I look up at the wall.

I stand up.

I need to anyway, I can feel my shins starting to go numb.

I stretch my back, my arms, and step closer to the photographs.

"This," I point to one, a cemetery lit by thousands of candles, "Dia de los Muertos. Mexico. You speak Spanish."

He looks up at me, "Yeah."

I smile, goofily, "Please?"

"You… want me to… speak in Spanish? Right now? On command?" he looks amused.

"Yeah," I bite my lip, "please? If you don't mind..."

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know… do you… have anything memorized?"

He laughs, "A monologue?"

"Yeah! Or… a speech. A poem? I don't know."

"You want me to recite a poem in Spanish?"

I shrug, "Why not?"

He groans and lets his head fall back against the counter, "Uh…"

He rolls his eyes up at me.

Yes, I'm being ridiculous.

But when he starts?

I don't care.

I'll be ridiculous forever if it means things like this continue to happen.

He grins and I watch his face as he pulls something up out of his memory.

_"Si no fuera porque tus ojos tienen color de luna,_

_de día con arcilla, con trabajo, con fuego,_

_y aprisionada tienes la agilidad del aire,_

_si no fuera porque eres una semana de ámbar…"_

He looks up at me expectantly.

I can't breathe.

And, fuck it, I'm horny.

And…

"Is that…" he leans forward, "sufficient?"

"Wh… what is that?"

He laughs, looking down, embarrassed, "Pablo Neruda."

I don't think I've ever seen him embarrassed before. It's the cutest thing I've ever seen. I tease, "How seductive, David!"

He rubs the back of his neck, "It was the only thing I could remember."

"Did you… memorize that to…" I waggle my eyebrows like an idiot, "you know."

He smiles a funny little private smile I've never seen before, "Maybe."

"Oh-ho! Did it work?"

"Do you think it worked?"

Hmm…

Do I think that an insanely fucking sexy man reciting Pablo Neruda in Spanish might convince me, or any other woman, or because I now know that David is also that way inclined, man, to sleep with said insanely fucking sexy man?

Play it coy, Rose.

"I'm, uh… not sure yet."

"Oh…" he feigns hurt, "I see."

I look at another photo. "Amsterdam. What do they speak there?"

"A lot of different languages."

"What did you speak there?"

"English. French."

Oh, fuck.

"You remember any more of that poem?"

"You want me to do it in French?" he is incredulous.

I am incorrigible and full of cookies and horny and… "Yeah!"

He laughs, and I can see the gears working as he continues, translating the poem from Spanish into French and…

More importantly…

He's speaking French with his eyes closed.

For me.

There's a photograph of the Frauenkirche in Munich.

"German?"

He opens his eyes and looks at me and without missing more than a couple of beats, switches to German.

I feel giddy.

I look at Kazan Cathedral lit up in black and white.

No way.

"Russian?"

He laughs and stands up, thinking.

He takes a few steps closer to me, eyes fixed on my face which, I'm sure is just completely bugged out.

He's amazing.

He starts speaking in Russian.

"Are you kidding me?"

He laughs and keeps speaking… and I can't follow anything but…

He touches the corner of another photo.

Iceland.

He finishes the poem in that Icelandic.

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, "That is my favorite one."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Your… favorite photograph?"

"No. My favorite language."

"Which one is your favorite photograph?"

I'm going to kiss him.

"It's not here."

I can do that.

"No?"

We've been warming second base for over a week.

"No."

I want more.

Every time.

I want more, more, every time.

"Why not?"

"It's not for sale."

I want more this time.

His lips open undermine.

"Tell… tell me something true," I say into his mouth.

He blinks, "What?"

His eyes get so dark.

"Tell me something true," I repeat, but it makes about as much sense to me as it does to him.

He holds my neck, thumbs against my pulse.

"Þú gerir mig hamingjusama," true in Icelandic is still true, so I take it "Ég vil þig."

He holds back for a minute, just looking at me.

Hesitating.

Please don't make me the one to stop, David.

Please.

He pulls me down.

"Tell me something else."

He chuckles, "Why?"

"Because I," get off on "really like the way it sounds," I kiss him, "I really like it."

He exhales against me, "Svifnökkvinn minn er fullur af álum."

Hot. I smile and kiss him, "Which… what..."

He kisses me, deep and real and strong, and I stagger when he virtually purrs against my mouth, "My hovercraft is full of eels."

And I completely lose my shit.

He steps back from me, looking pleased with himself as I laugh until I cry.

"You… looked that up?"

"Yeah. I didn't…" he wrinkles his nose and pushes his glasses up, "I haven't seen very much Monty Python, but, uh-"

"We need to do something about that!" I wipe my eyes, "I own everything. I used, to, hah, I watched it with my dad. I, seriously… come over, we'll get you started on a Monty Python regimen. It's important."

"Okay, yeah. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Oh."

His eyes open all the way.

I haven't told him.

I don't know why.

"I, uh…" my voice goes up a little, "I'm getting a wisdom tooth taken out tomorrow."

He tilts his head, "Really?"

"Yeah. Just one. My last one."

I think that in the long laundry list of things that I'm insecure about… the teeth are up there.

High.

And painful.

And expensive.

"You're a little old for that, aren't you?"

"Ouch," I feign insult, "It's…" I can feel him looking at my mouth and I try to talk with my lips closed, "been a process."

"Huh. Do you… need anything?"

I scratch my nose to cover my mouth, "I'll be out of it, but, uh… Rory's driving me home. After."

"Oh."

"I mean," I swallow, "Um…"

He looks up at me.

"Would you…"

He smirks and ducks his head.

"Are you busy?"

I'm nervous.

It's like asking him on a date.

A date where I'll be drugged and bloody, swollen and-

"Nothing planned yet."

"I'm… I can be a little difficult sometimes. With the… the anesthesia…"

He smiles, "Okay."

"Yeah?" I need to be kissing him again.

"Yeah."

Like right now.

OoO

"Are you ready?"

I sigh.

And twitch.

"Uhhh…"

It doesn't matter how many times I've done this.

I'm still nervous.

Anxious.

I feel cold.

Uncertain.

And, yes, I'll admit it if anyone asks, scared.

"Yeah."

Oral surgery is this recurring event in my life that I wish, I wish, would stop happening… but it just doesn't.

But I like my Doctor.

He's really got a knack for delivering really bad news as gently as possible.

Which is good because, with my teeth, there's usually been a fair amount of bad news that needed to be delivered.

And he's nice, and a good at what he does on top of that.

He's the only tooth-professional I've ever had that I have liked.

I've had a lot of dentists.

Orthodontists.

People poking around and rearranging my teeth with varying levels of success and empathy.

But this? This is kind of a milestone.

This is my last wisdom tooth he is about to dig out of my jaw. It's really in there… but it's coming out.

Finally.

I am a million years older than anyone else coming in here for this…

Or… you know, like ten years older.

Still.

They're putting me under.

The Doctor's anesthesiologist, a pleasantly pleasant older woman with white hair in cherry red scrubs is holding the oxygen mask, at the ready.

We've learned through trial and error (oh, the error…) that I do much better in these situations when I'm good and sedated.

It's better for everybody really.

I fold my hands over the paper bib clipped around my chest.

I can see my heartbeat rattling away through the textured absorbent paper.

Breathe, Rose.

David's in the waiting room.

I did warn him that I take an especially long time to filter out all the anesthesia and that I stay pretty weird for a while…

He'd been intrigued.

But he's there now, reading The Stranger in French, not far away.

"Okay!" the woman with the mask in her hand says cheerfully, "here we go, dear!"

Oh, hey oxygen.

Breathing is good.

"How do you feel?" The Doctor asks.

I give him a thumbs up.

Oxygen is nice.

I should breathe it more often!

I feel… good.

I like feeling good.

David makes me feel good.

Our pants have stayed on.

But… I mean… sometimes… a hand…

It's getting harder and harder to stop, though.

I mean… his hand over my pants?

His hand.

Or mine over his?

He's much better at stopping than I am.

He's got phenomenal self-control.

It's… admirable-

"How are you doing, Rose?"

Enthusiastic, two thumbs up.

Wow. My body is so light right now.

"How do you feel?"

I nod.

Whew… okay… hey.

Oh, hey there, anesthesia.

Nice to see you…

David's sitting out there now.

He came here with me.

He doesn't like blood.

And neither do I.

But he's here.

And I'm glad he is.

Because when he's not with me… I want him to be.

Hey! Is that a unicorn?!

OoO

"How are you doing?"

He's asked me that, like, twenty times.

"I'm. Rose."

David's car looks bigger inside than out, and very blue.

I like big blue cars. Their sexy.

It's so much like my car is… but quieter.

And he's driving it.

And his keys…

His keys look like my keys.

"You are, yeah."

This is the quietest car I've ever been in!

Is it even on?

"Are we moving?"

"Yes," he's chuckling. Chuckles are weird.

Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle…

Hey, did you know that seatbelts are weird?

They… belt you to your seat.

Like a belt.

Belts your pants to…

"Hey!" there's a David-hand on my Rose-hand, "Don't do that yet."

David's holding my hand.

And driving.

It's nice.

I hold his hand, too.

I was just going to push that button on the seat belt… buckle… holder.

I don't want to be belted!

I hate belts.

I hate what they stand for!

"David!"

"Yes?"

"I don't want this belt!"

He's laughing at me, "You need to keep it on. It's the law."

"Oh... I don't want to break the laws."

He's laughing at me.

"Don't…" I can't ever remember feeling anything like this kind of overwhelming sadness… it's like a black pit in my chest and my soul and... "Don't laugh at me…"

"Hey," he squeezes my fingers, "I didn't mean it. Okay?"

"Okay."

"We're almost home."

"David?"

"Yes?"

"I saw a unicorn."

"You did? What was it like?"

"It was beautiful," it really was, "It had white hair. I wanted to brush its hair, but it ran away from me. And then it dove into a lake. And I wanted to swim with it... but I couldn't. And then it was gone."

I want to cry.

And then I don't.

"Hey. You have really sexy hair."

His shoulders are shaking and I like the way his hands look on the steering wheel.

"I do."

"I wanted to swim with that unicorn, David."

"I'm sorry it got away from you."

"Me too… I don't think I'll ever see it again!"

This is my car.

"This is my car! Wait, no it's not. "

There's something in my mouth.

"Blech," I gag, I'm choking, "David!"

"Almost home, don't… Don't! Rose! Keep your fingers out of your mouth, Rose."

"But I'm choking!"

"No… you're not. You have gauze in your mouth."

"Gauze?! In my mouth?"

"For the blood."

Blood.

I feel dizzy.

I close my eyes, but that just makes me dizzier.

"I don't want a dry socket, David…"

"I don't want you to have a dry socket either."

"They say I can't suck on anything or I'll get a dry socket!"

"You, uh… planning on sucking on anything?"

"I don't use straws."

He's laughing at me again.

But he's holding my hand.

And I'm wearing this shirt.

Oh, I like this shirt. It's red and black. I think it's my favorite.

I smooth my other hand down the front of it.

I like the way this feels.

I laugh too.

But I don't remember why I'm laughing.

OoO

"This is disgusting."

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't talk. Keep your mouth open."

"Ahhhhhh!"

Rory's fingers are in my mouth.

Which is weird.

"Are my lips blue?"

He makes a frustrated noise, "Rose, stop talking."

I do.

He pulls something out of my mouth.

I see it.

It's red and white and wet.

I panic.

"Oh, god. Is that part of my mouth?!"

We are in my living room and he's standing up.

David's here too, behind him.

I'm sitting down.

Rory was upstairs, watching Amy write, when we got here and he came down to check on me.

And David doesn't like blood.

Strange how a Doctor doesn't like blood.

And my mouth is full of it.

So I asked Rory to do this.

Because I don't want to make David…

"No… it's just the gauze. Here, open your mouth. I need to put another one in."

I want to cry, "I don't want another one."

"Just…" he sighs. I'm frustrating Rory.

I open my mouth.

Wide.

Or… I think I do.

I can't really feel it.

He crouches and puts another dry piece of gauze in my mouth and stands up, and grabs the other old bloody, ugh… the bloody gauze.

That's so gross.

I'm glad I asked Rory to do that and not David.

"Thanks, Dad."

He laughs.

"Rory?"

"Yes?"

"You're my best scarecrow."

"You're my best scarecrow too, Rose."

"Ugh. No. No. I'm not a… I'm a… what's the girl's name? I'm a Wendy. No. I'm a… not Alice. Liza? Yeah… that's it. I'm a Liza and you're my scarecrow."

After that?

It's kind of a blur.

I mostly sleep.

Rory's gone the next time I wake up.

I watch a few minutes of Flying Circus, which is on, but I keep falling asleep.

David's there, sitting in the leather chair.

He's watching Monty Python.

I feel safe listening to familiar accents and the sound of him laughing.

Every time I wake up, he's there.

Sometimes he has a pill and water for me. Or a Popsicle. Some soup.

But mostly, he's just there.

And his coat is folded over the back on the couch and close to my face.

And I smell him.

And I smile and fall asleep again.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: OooOoh, Wah, I'm a bit behind. I've been working like crazy the last few days. I'm behind on reviews, I'll try and get to them tomorrow. I'm really, really excited to hear everyones thoughts on this chapter.**

**I may post another chapter later tonight, but if not tonight tomorrow for sure.**

**As always my friends.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I finally feel like me and not some drug-soaked sponge version of me by around 8:00 pm.

And since I've slept all day, I'm completely wired.

Wide awake but not well-rested.

And I feel kind of crunchy, like stale bread.

But that was the last wisdom tooth.

And hopefully the last time I have to do anything like that for a while.

Hopefully.

And David…

"Hey."

I rub my eyes.

He's standing in front of me with a bag of frozen peas in his hand wrapped in a tea towel.

"Hey."

He extends the peas to me and I take them.

"Oh, that feels nice…" I say blissfully, settling the bag over my swollen cheek.

"Do you want another Percocet?"

I shake my head, "It's okay. Maybe later when I'm trying to sleep."

"Okay."

The TV's off. It's dark outside and I'm in that weird twilight fog of having no attachment to my internal clock. I know it's 8:00 because the cable box tells me so… as far as my body's concerned it could be four in the morning or two in the afternoon tomorrow.

The shop lamp next to the chair is on and a library copy of Fellowship of the Ring is spread over the arm of the leather chair.

I smile.

That hurts.

"Ah. How, uh, bad was I?"

He chuckles and sits down in the chair, "You weren't bad. You were pretty funny."

"I try."

"And succeed."

"Was… was Rory here?"

"For a little while, yeah."

"God… drugs. I… kind of remember that. Kind of."

"Do you remember calling him Dad?"

I balk, "No! Did I? How weird!"

"Hmm," he's grinning.

"I had a dream…" I push myself into a seated position, "it seemed so real."

"The, uh, unicorn?"

"What?!"

He laughs, "Not the unicorn then."

"I'm afraid to ask…"

"You told me in the car that you saw a unicorn, but that it got away from you… you got a little emotional."

"God, David…" I shake my head, "I'm sorry."

"I don't mind," he says, and the sound of his voice is warm, honest.

Close.

"So this other dream…?"

"Oh. I, uh… I met a mouse."

"Uh-huh."

"And he was my friend. Then he turned into a bear. And then… I think he betrayed me."

"What do you think it means?"

"Don't befriend mice?"

"Probably a good policy. In general."

I laugh, "Ow. Yeah. Probably."

We eat dinner, he makes a sandwich and I warm up the soup that Mum made for me two days ago, and then I call Mum to assure her that I'm fine and to check on Mickey who I left there with her, not knowing how up to taking care of an enormous dog I'd feel.

When I tell her I'm not alone, I can hear her beaming through the phone.

When my peas start to get mushy, I stand up and slowly drag myself into the shower.

While it feels amazing to let the water wash away that stale bread feeling, the steam makes me dizzy and I end up sitting on the floor of the tub.

I sit there for a while and let the water hit the top of my head while black crowds into my peripheral vision.

Standing up seems like the wrong choice to make at this venture.

So I sit.

My limbs and torso just kind of folded up under the shower water.

After a few minutes, I lift my head and tilt it back, eyes shut tight and let the water hit my chest.

"Rose?"

My eyes snap open.

"Wha, uh, yeah?"

"I was… checking. You, um, you've been in here a long time."

"Have I?" I reach forward and turn off the water.

I can't see him through the curtain, but I can hear from the echo that he's at least poked his head into the bathroom.

"Yeah."

"I, uh…" I push wet hair out of my face, "I got a little dizzy."

"That can happen," he sounds calm, closer.

"I'm fine… I sat down."

"Okay."

"Feeling better."

"Okay."

"Still sitting."

"Okay. Do you…"

On the one hand, I'm completely naked in the same room that he's in, and that… I mean…

I've been thinking about this happening for a while.

Thinking about it a lot, actually.

Often in here.

Actually.

But…

I'm not exactly at my prime right now.

Sitting here like a drowned rat.

And had swollen cheeks.

That would be terrifying.

"Do you need anything?"

I laugh, and feel it shake in my throat, "Sitting's good. I think I might, just, do that."

"Okay…"

"Would you mind, uh," at this point Rose, what does it really matter?, "Sometimes, I um… I need something to distract me, from feeling like I'm going to pass out. Like, I think about it too much and psych myself out and… umm…" I smile and look up at the shadow of him through the curtain, "This is weird, but would you mind just, kind of, staying and… talking?"

"In here?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't mind. Do you want some water or anything?"

"I've got lots of water in here."

"Okay, Ishmael, I meant to drink."

"Oh… uh… yeah?"

Okay…

So…

This is happening.

This is not sexy.

This is not…

I hear the sink turn on and off, and a second later the curtain pulls back just enough to let in a hand bearing the glass of water I brought in here with me and left on the counter.

I take it.

He closes the curtain.

I drink, "Was that a Moby Dick joke?"

He laughs, and the way the sound echoes in here send the sound directly into my chest.

And… other places.

Perfect.

Just…

Perfect

My body betrays me, my skin is buzzing, as well as other parts of my anatomy.

Damn body, you Judas. Now is not the time.

"It was a Moby Dick joke. Sorry."

"No, I… I think there's not enough… literary… humor in my life."

"Hmm."

Seriously…

Between the laugh and the 'hmm'.

Judas, you are not helping.

Not helping with the dizzy.

Or with anything else.

Nope.

"Have you ever read Moby Dick?"

For the love of god, can we stop saying Dick?!

"Uhh… in high school." Shortly before I dropped out.

"I liked it. Melville's take on fate was really… interesting."

Dick.

Fate.

"Fate?"

"I mean… if our fate can be inherently bound to someone else, or something else, where does our own control end and theirs begin? An Ahab, or a whale… they can control us more than we do ourselves?"

"Uhh…" come on, Rose, you used to have these kinds of conversations all the time! And you read Moby Dick, once. Okay, no you didn't… you read the Spark Notes and watched the movie. Ten years ago. The one with Patrick Stewart… oh, god, Rose, why didn't you at least watch the one with Gregory Peck?! Or read the damn book?!, "I think that… in order to have our fate controlled by an other… there is always a moment of choice. When we… choose to give them authority. And in that moment... we have all control."

Yes. That was definitely in the Spark Notes as a major theme.

"Hmm…" he thinks about it, "you think there's always a choice?"

"I like to think that there is, yeah."

"That's a good answer," he pauses, "What was your big choice?"

"What?"

"If there's always a choice… what was yours? Or have you made it yet do you think?"

I love that this is his light, I'm-going-to-distract-you-from-passing-out conversation topic.

Not like, 'Gee, Rose, these are my favorite kinds of sandwiches.'

"Uhh… to not be alone?"

"Hmm… That's a… good answer."

"What about you?"

I finish my water while I wait for him to answer.

"The same, maybe. I think I've made more than one."

"Can you do that?"

"Sure. Maybe," he laughs, "I don't really know."

I think he does.

I think he knows.

"You're reading Fellowship of the Ring?"

"Yeah…" I hear the lid of the toilet close and see the shape of his shadow sit.

This is ridiculous.

"I've never read it before. Never had time. Elves and talking trees."

I laugh and set the glass down in the corner-edge of the tub and unfold my limbs a little, "What's wrong with elves?"

He chuckles, "Nothing, I guess I'm more of a science fiction sort of bloke."

"Fair enough! It's one of my favorites."

"Yeah… I like Gandalf."

"You would."

He chuckles.

"He's good," I say, feeling significantly less dizzy and the thought of Gandalf, of all people, "'Not all those who wander are lost.'"

"I like that," he says quietly.

"Me too."

After a while, I start to get cold.

I need to get out.

He offers to help, but I tell him I'm fine… because… I…

How embarrassing is that?

I'm like an old, wet geriatric.

I take my time, get my feet under myself and wait, then stand up slowly.

Really slowly.

I'm okay.

I push the curtain back.

Whoa.

I have a hand against the tile, but I'm dizzy, slipping.

"Hey!"

I don't fall.

My vision's dark and blurry.

But I feel arms around me, and a chest against mine, cold tile pressed against my back.

And I don't fall.

"Fuck. Sorry-"

"Don't apologize. It's fine."

He is very strong.

He holds me up, pinning me between himself and the shower wall, until I can do it myself.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you s-see my?"

He's still pressed against me, and I feel his whole body shake as he laughs, "No. I didn't."

"Okay. Good. Because…" I swallow, "because this isn't how I want," I can't help it, I start laughing too, "this isn't how I want that to happen."

"It hasn't… happened yet. Are you okay to…?"

"Yeah."

He leans back tentatively, and looks up at my face.

He's actually blushing.

He makes a real show out of keeping his eyes high, looking up at the ceiling as he turns and steps gracefully out of the tub and grabs my towel of the rack, extending it to me without lowering his eyes.

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

I get out and make a b-line for my bed.

Sitting there, my hair dripping, I feel a lot of things.

Mild dizziness still being one of them. But, other things too. A lot.

When he follows me in with another towel…

I feel more things.

He holds it out to me.

I take it and start drying my hair, leaving it up around my head and shoulders.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Why am I always a mess?" I keep drying, scrubbing the towel into my hair.

"You're not a mess."

I laugh and point at my cheek, "Not a mess? Look at me!"

"I am."

Oh, fuck.

He is.

"David."

It's warm in here, and dark except for the one little stupid round lamp by my bed.

It's warm.

And safe.

And one of us is not wearing pants.

And we are both very much aware of that.

I hear him swallow.

"How do you feel?"

What a question!

"Much better."

He nods.

He takes a step closer.

"How much?"

"Much-much better."

"I…" he's close enough to touch, close enough to touch me, "I…"

It's funny how everything changes with the seemingly small ignition of want.

It's like the chemical reaction of a match being struck.

Strike.

Flare.

Flame.

And it is a chemical reaction. Because with him this close, and with his eyes on me and that dark, black and just a little brown through thick lashes, I don't feel any pain.

I'm not dizzy.

I've never been dizzy.

Wisdom tooth?

What wisdom tooth?

"This is… so not the right time…" his voice has dropped to a different register and I feel it between my lungs.

"It's so not."

"Are you… I don't want to do anything that… I don't want to hurt you. Your," he touches his own jaw, a mirror to mine.

I shake my head, "If you can stand the sight of me like this…"

"Stand?"

He bends down, hands digging into the mattress on either side of my towel-wrapped hips.

He kisses me so softly.

He's being so careful.

And the affection in that kiss is enough to bring tears to the corners of my eyes.

He pulls back.

"Sorry. Sorry-"

"No," I shake my head, "No. You didn't… I'm fine. I'm…"

I swallow.

One side of his mouth tugs and he reaches over and pulls the towel around my shoulders off and away, leaving my head exposed.

My hair is a wet tangle of uneven matted and thick enough that it still drips cold water down my back.

"Tell me to go and I will."

I blink, "I don't want you to go."

"Tell me to stop and I-"

"I don't want you to stop."

He smiles.

"Are we…"

I nod, and I feel water drip down my unswollen cheek, "I think we are, yeah."

He leans in again, and I feel the heat of his lips, and then his tongue as he chases the drop of water.

I moan and grab his upper arms.

"David!"

He kisses the muscle between my neck and my shoulder, and then lightly presses the side of his head against mine, "Is this too… weird?"

I laugh, which is quite a feat with no air in my lungs, "I have a pretty high threshold for weird."

"Yeah I do too."

"I just…" I smile, "How swollen am I?"

I feel his smile.

"I don't want to be vain, but if… if this is the first time we… leave second, I mean, just… I don't want you to remember my face being…"

"It's not that swollen," he says quietly, "really. You think it's worse than it is."

My hands are against his sides, and I can feel the speed of his breaths, the shape of his ribs.

"But if you want to stop, we can stop… but… you know, stop me now."

I smile.

He's got more self-control than I do… but I just heard it give a little.

"What are we… leaving second?"

There is after all, just a thin layer of white terry cloth between second and third base.

He nods, "I'd like to."

I let out a long shuddering breath that ruffles his hair.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"I…"

He kisses my pulse, "Just say it, it's okay."

I make a pained noise in my throat, "I can't suck on anything or I'll get a dry socket."

The laugh that erupts out of him takes me by surprise.

He pulls back, and bends with his hands on his thighs, laughing so much.

No.

It's not even laughing anymore.

It's a giggle.

And it's adorable.

He stands up, taking off his glasses and wiping his eyes.

"Oh, fuck it, Rose!"

"So… uh, rain check?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Because… I mean…" I try to look composed sitting there in my towel, "I want to, and, I… um… I think we're ready."

"I think so too."

"But… not tonight."

"No. Not tonight."

"Stay with me tonight, though?"

He nods.

I set up my laptop and start playing The Royal Tenenbaums while David hops in the shower himself. I drop my towel and leave it on the floor and pull on a pair of hot pink pajama bottoms.

Despite feeling so wired earlier, I fall asleep again before all the principal characters are introduced or the water shuts off.

When I wake up, it's dark in the room.

I'm on my side, which is never how I sleep.

I'm facing David.

Who is also on his side.

Facing me.

My arm is stretched out across the pillow.

And under his head.

He's sleeping on my arm, the solid weight of it resting on my bicep.

He's not wearing a shirt, and what little light there is from the sliver of moon outside comes in, down, from the window over our heads and his shoulder just looks… perfect.

Smooth.

The white scars look elegant, deliberate and crisp.

Like the rest of him.

I feel his breath on my chest, even and deep and comforting.

We've slept in the same bed a handful of times now.

But… barring the air mattress which more or less folded us in together, we've kept to our own sides for actual sleeping.

Out of… I don't know what.

Boundaries.

Some boundary is being crossed here.

I'm okay with that.

I'm really okay.

I bend my arm at the elbow and dig my fingers into his hair.

He smells like my shampoo.

I know this because I've pulled him in closer, and my lips are pressed against his forehead, my nose in his hair.

His hand is between our chests, and I hold it in mine.

He's awake.

"Mmm."

I smile, lips still against his hairline.

"It's been a long time since I woke up like this," he says to the center of my cleavage.

I nod, "Me too. David?"

"Mmhm?"

"What are you wearing?"

He laughs quietly.

"My boxers."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You wear boxers?"

"Err… boxer briefs."

"Can I…" he looks up at me and I can see him smirking in the dark, "see?"

"It's dark."

"I have excellent night vision."

He sighs and lifts the comforter.

It's too dark to see anything, but I look anyway.

"Aha!" I say quietly, approvingly, and he lowers the blanket.

"Happy?" he settles back in, scooting closer, his head more against my shoulder than my arm.

"Very."

His arm is folded up against his chest again, between our bodies.

I feel one crooked finger stroking near the center of my chest.

I trail the tip of one of my fingers lightly along his spine, and when I hit a certain spot just above the small of his back he curls forward and smiles.

"Is that good?"

"Yeah," he answers, pressing his face against my neck.

I do it again.

He smiles against my throat.

"I feel like we're doing this all out of order," I murmur.

He shrugs, "Someone elses order."

"Hmm."

We just kind of lay there for a few minutes.

And it's good.

And then my mouth starts talking.

"Hey, have you ever been in a fight?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Like a fist fight?"

"Yeah."

"More than once?"

"Yes."

"Oh. I haven't."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Never."

"Huh…" his knuckle goes still against me.

"What?"

"I… used to get into a lot of fights."

I don't really know what to say to that.

I stroke his shoulder blade with my thumb with a rhythm I try really hard to keep even.

"When I was eighteen, I moved to New York. It wasn't. ..what I thought it would be, but it was better than where I'd been."

I press my lips to his forehead again and listen, eyes wide in the dark.

"I lived in a shelter for a while. After… I stayed wherever I could. For a night, for a week. Some places were better than others."

He's quiet then for a while, and I feel the flex of muscle in his back as he shifts slightly.

"You end up finding yourself in fighting situations pretty regularly when you're living like that."

I swallow.

"And a part of me went looking for them, so that didn't help."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm. Yeah. I was indestructible," he laughs, then swallows, "You know how it is."

"I've always felt very destructible. My parents had to go to a parent-teacher conference about it when I was in the first grade. I was deeply concerned about mortality in the first grade."

He kisses the sensitive spot at the corner of my jaw, then lifts his hand and traces a line on his scalp, from hair line to crown, "I have a scar, here. A… fight. I woke up in the emergency room-"

He stops.

Abruptly.

He laughs derisively, "I really know how to ruin a moment, don't I?"

I shrug, "You didn't ruin it. I brought it up."

"Hmm. Yeah. That's true."

He nods, and snuggles in deeper, closer.

We're not lying flush together, but we're close to that.

"Are you wearing socks?"

"Yeah. My feet get cold."

"Mine too."

"Do you want a Percocet?"

"Nah. I'm good… doesn't really hurt now," I pause, "Do you want one?"

He laughs softly and unfolds his arm, finally, letting his palm rest warmly against the curve of my waist.

"No. I'm good."

We don't talk after that.

But it's comfortable. So, so comfortable.

I have no clue what time it is. None.

I hope that my internal clock will reset when I wake up.

But this weird lost day with him?

I've really enjoyed it.

Actually. I've really enjoyed it a lot.

At some point during the night, I almost wake up and I swear he's kissing me, so softly.

And I want to wake up the rest of the way. I want to be fully awake with him, now.

I want to kiss him back.

I want to know the story of all of his scars.

I want to hear about every battle he's ever been in.

And survived.

Because while it hurts some deep rooted part of me that lives in my chest and doesn't have a name… I feel like I'm ready for it.

I'm so ready.

I'm ready to get past my own demons, my insecurities.

I want us to do it together.

I want to roll him over on top of me, I want him to take me.

I want to hear him, feel him, say my name.

But my body is so unbelievably, unnaturally tired.

My body just does not cope well with those kinds of drugs.

I want to…

He says something to me… but I can't hear him.

I'm falling too fast and too deep.

And I fall asleep saying what I think is his name.

OoO

"How have we never discussed this?!"

I shrug, "I don't know."

Amy huffs and folds her arms across her chest, "I wondered why we never did anything for your birthday. No cupcakes. No singing. No nothing. I thought maybe you just didn't celebrate it, like, a…" she looks over at Rory who is looking decidedly tired today… and by that I mean disheveled and mildly psychotic, "what's the religion that doesn't celebrate birthdays? Not Mormons-"

"You thought I was Mormon?!"

"Jehovah's Witness," he answers glumly, not looking up from the laptop.

"Yeah! That's it," she looks up at me, "but… you're a Christmas Eve baby? Tragic."

"Yeah. It sucked as a kid…" I look at Rory, "What's up with him?"

She motions for me to follow her towards the pastry case, and says quietly, "He's past his deadline at work."

"Oh!"

She glances over at him, and says quietly, "His heart's not in it."

I nod and push around some Danishes.

"Why doesn't he just…"

"Quit? Do something else?" her mouth quirks, "He's contractually obligated."

"Poor Rory."

The door opens.

It's 10:00.

I wasn't sure if this would keep happening.

If he would still come in.

To buy tea.

It's coffee now.

But he does.

Every day.

He says he's addicted to the caffeine now.

"Go on," Amy purrs and puts the Danishes I've molested back in place.

"Hey!"

He smiles, "Morning."

I pour his coffee.

"Good morning, David," Amy says, passing behind him.

"Good morning, Amy."

He has money.

"You know," I say, withholding his coffee, "Jack even said that you should be getting this on the house at this point."

"Oh did he?"

"What with you being our artist and everything," I smile and hand him the cup.

He takes it and gives me the money, "Your artist?"

"Harkness'," I look over his shoulder at the photos, "Jack's thrilled. There's a lot of interest."

He smirks, "I'm glad to hear it."

Two of the photos sold yesterday. Clara had giddily taken care of the transaction, and the part of me that got all warm and squishy as she boasted to the buyer, a nice middle aged guy with a receding hairline, about how talented the photographer is was not small.

The little green sticker on the bottom of the frame means that they're off the market.

He sips his coffee and walks over to look at them.

I follow.

"Amy, can you...?"

She combs her fingers through Rory's messy hair, picks up an empty plate from his table and nods at me.

I stand next to David.

"Iceland and Mexico sold, huh?"

I nod.

"They're so good."

"Hmm. Who bought them?"

"Uh… don't remember his name…" I look at him sideways; the smile hidden in the corner of his mouth is almost entirely imperceptible… but I see it, "Do you, uh, wan to… go look at the, uh… uh…" I smile, and look over my shoulder at Amy who is ringing up a girl who looks to be about fourteen, "Do you want to come in the back and see the paperwork?"

"I do, yeah. If that's okay," his voice is low with an edge that's starting to be familiar… and I feel it in my gut.

"Okay, um, yeah," I see Amy roll her eyes at me as I lead him toward the stockroom.

I'm really doing this.

We're doing this before eleven in the morning.

I click on the light, we walk inside, I shut the door.

He sets his coffee down on an unopened box of vanilla syrup and puts his messenger bag down beside it.

"So, this paperwork?"

"Uh…" I grab the clipboard from off the wall, "his name is Dorium."

I gasp as he pushes me gently against the door, hands on my hips, body pressed against mine.

He smells like coffee and December and morning and David.

"Is that a first or a last name?" that edge is still there, a rough warm sound, and I curl down and into it.

"I don't know."

He chuckles, holding my face and keeping his mouth just enough away from mine to talk, "You don't know? It's right there, Rose."

Brain doesn't work now.

No brain here.

Only your mouth.

Your smile.

Lips.

"I don't remember."

He smiles.

I'm bold, and driven, like I've got tunnel vision, and…

With his fingers twisted in my hair, I taste his bottom lip with the tip of my tongue.

"Mmm..."

He growls and thrusts against me, pushing me into the door, and the immediacy of it startles us both.

"What are we…" he tips my face up, thumbs pressed to my cheekbones, kissing me hard, dangerous, and it's hard to stay quiet, and I feel a moan stuck in my chest like a physical obstruction, "Be careful what you start, Rose."

I'm completely, irrevocably horny as all hell.

I can feel the tension in his body as he stands there against me, strung tight.

The blood has rushed to my head.

I'm reckless.

I reach down and smooth a hand over his ass, pulling him in closer against me, closing my hand enough to feel the muscle flex. Perfect.

His forehead falls against my neck.

"What if…" I swallow, and move my other hand between our bodies, tracing the shape of him through his pants.

The line of his cock.

His… cock.

I still haven't seen it, but I have all kinds of ideas about what it looks like. I've felt it, plenty. Through cotton.

It's impressive, almost frighteningly so.

I think it's perfect, and that idea has haunted and so improved my masturbatory life.

Large hard and curved and, oh god, thick.

Hard… because of me.

And real against my fingers through just a couple layers of fabric, and zipper and…

And here in the storeroom at Harkness'.

At work.

At, like, 10:20 in the morning.

"Rose…" he growls and his hands curl into fists against the wall behind me.

"Yes?"

"Unless you're actually prepared to do this, here, for the sake of my sanity… stop."

I seriously consider it.

But when, like something out of nightmare… one of those I show up to take the SAT's naked kind of nightmares, when I hear low boom of Jack's voice through the door behind me I am snapped back into reality.

"Yes, it is exciting!" I hear Amy say too loudly, "They just went in the back to look over the paperwork, Jack. I'll go get them."

"Dammit," I sigh shakily.

"Fuck," he pushes back from me and tries, in vain, to adjust himself into decency.

Hard as a rock.

I'm somewhat lucky, I don't have that problem, but my face is flush.

Just those black pants… that… oh, god, those pants-

"I'm sorry!"

Amy knocks lightly, "I'm so, so sorry…" she whispers.

"Your bag,"

He picks up his messenger bag and slips it on, crossing the strap in front of his chest so that the bag itself covers his hips.

And crotch.

He picks up his coffee.

I smile goofily.

Amy cracks the door.

"Your hair," he says, reaching up, trying to smooth it back into place.

He gives up quickly, and laughs silently, "Lost cause."

"Well fuck it then," I laugh. And kiss him quick, one last time, before walking out of the stock room separately.

Jack's one of those all-seeing, all-knowing types.

The quirked eyebrow he directs at me literally has me blushing, but he pulls David over and they stand there talking about the photographs, discussing future opportunities.

I dart back over to the counter with Amy to serve the sudden line of customers that have popped up.

My hands are shaking a little.

I wonder if everyone can tell.

I look over at David. His face is a perfect mask of calm, but the way that he's white knuckling the strap of his bag gives him away.

"Sweetheart!"

I look up.

Mum's in the line.

Perfect.

She waits her turn and then makes a fuss over how beautiful Amy is, telling her that she looks like a fertility idol (which, coming from her is a huge compliment).

"Hopefully I'm looking a little composed," Amy holds her own hips and grins.

"And she knows her fertility idols! Oh, Rose, your friends are just wonderful."

"What can I get for you?" Amy coos.

"Just a coffee, dear."

"Don't let her pay," I say to Amy.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Rosie."

I look over at David and Jack.

He's smirking at me.

It's like worlds colliding when Jack introduces himself to my mum.

She's completely charmed by him, not that I blame her.

He's damn charming.

He asks her what brings her in.

"Needed a little pick me up. Finishing up the Christmas shopping today…"

"You're doing better than me," he says, so charming, "I haven't even started yet."

They laugh.

David's standing next to me.

"What are you doing tonight?" he whispers, low, and only I hear him.

I turn to him.

"I think that would be lovely!" Mum exclaims to Jack, and I look over my shoulder at her, "A tree in here? Yes. We're going tonight. Rose and I."

I open my mouth and look at David, pained, "Buying a Christmas tree."

"I'll tell you what," Jack says, "I'm buying. We'll all go. It'll be more fun that way. Amy, what are you doing tonight?"

She glances over at Rory, then back, "No big plans."

"Oh, Rory!" Mum exclaims and he looks up at her, "I didn't even see you there!"

He smiles weakly.

Jack comes up with this plan quickly while Mum fusses over Rory, and it becomes more and more elaborate at a rate that is truly boggling.

Dinner and the Christmas tree far, all on him. Mum puts up a fuss when he offers to buy her tree as well… but gives in pretty easily when he touches her arm.

"Apparently, I'm doing this tonight. Please come with me to this," I say to David.

He laughs and rolls his head back, "Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Sure…"

I try, "It'll be fun! And, um… after that… uh… do you, would you… maybe want to, uh…"

"Just spit it out, Rosie," Amy whispers behind me sweetly.

David laughs and rubs his chin with his thumb.

"Come over after."

"Yeah. I'd like that."

OoO

He spared no expense on the dinner.

Fancy tapas.

Expensive.

Lots of wine.

When I heard what restaurant he was taking us to, Vincento's, I wore a dress.

I mean… I'd have felt bad not wearing a dress.

No one else dressed up.

Well, David did but he's almost always in a suit and tie.

Clara had kept tugging on it.

She really likes ties.

The food was amazing, the owner very obliging.

And talkative.

It was fun, and, I haven't been out anywhere with Mum for a long time in a social way. It was nice seeing her like that again.

The only person missing is Rory, who is at home and, by Amy's account, doing more sulking than working… but, still, work is happening… her doggy-bagged left-overs are, I suspect for him and the thought makes me smile.

But I'd say that about… 40 percent of my brain was there, engaged at the dinner.

The rest of it?

The warmth of David's body sitting next to me.

The way he holds a knife.

The muscle in his jaw chewing.

The line of his throat, swallowing.

Swallowing.

I inhale my food faster than normal, fast enough that Mum comments on it and offers me a TUMS because she thinks I'm going to regret eating that fast.

OoO

David and I arrived at the Christmas tree farm before anyone else.

Standing by the string light-lit sign in coats and beanies, I just want to pull him in close.

You know.

For warmth.

His hands are buried in his pockets, a really long scarf pulled up high, and he looks much colder than I feel.

Oh, fuck it.

I pull him in.

He laughs, but lets me.

Amy and Clara arrive next.

And then Mum.

And then Jack.

It's a whole thing.

"You said you know the owners?" Jack asks my mum as we walk through the candy cane gates.

"Oh, yeah. I know Howard from way back," she smiles, "He's been ill… lately. Poor man. Ahh, there we go."

A younger woman near the little wooden house where the register is leads us to the larger trees.

We meander, while Mum and Jack take tree selection very seriously.

Amy and Clara dart away on their own, gloved hand in hand.

I'm…

The smell of pine and peppermint and cold air is overwhelming.

It's Christmas.

It hits me for the first time.

I have a lot of feelings about this time of year.

I always have…

We're alone in the trees.

Just David and…

I want him.

It feels like, in the cold, that want is even more clarified.

So clear.

Feeling giddy, I reach for his face, holding it between my gloved hands.

His eyes are closed.

And he looks happy.

His arms are around my waist.

"I feel like we're in Narnia," I say, just before I kiss him.

"You…" his voice is thick, but calm, "always know exactly the right thing to say."

I smile and kiss him, sweetly.

But when he kisses me back, I feel something change, coil.

Want.

We're alone.

"I'm so… tonight, I…"

I don't remember words, but he nods between my hands.

"I can't wait to… feel you," he sighs, "I-"

"Howard?!"

A shrill female voice calls out past the thick layers of trees.

"Howard?!"

"Here I am!"

We stand together, hidden, and listen to these disembodied voices pass us.

"These people want these two trees," the woman says, heavily accented.

David's hands press into the small of my back, "How… not that I'm not enjoying this… but… how much longer are we going to be with everyone?"

The edge is in his voice.

I respond to it like one of Pavolov's dogs.

"Let's just leave now," I kiss him, "They don't need us. We can just-"

"Rose? Sweetheart?"

I sigh. "Yes?"

She wants us both to help carry the trees to the cars.

"Not long," I groan, kissing him with a new kind of desperation, "Oh, god… I hope it's not long."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I'm so bad I made you all wait, I had this chapter finished last night. I was so tired I went to bed early. It's here now though. AND... this chapter is very NSFW, if you're not wanting to read smutty goodness you can pretty much skip most of this chapter. **

**I know many, many of you have been waiting for this moment. **

**Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Jack buys four trees that night for an astounding amount of money.

I'm sweaty and tired and there's sap in my hair and on my neck by the time David, Howard, Jack and I have lugged four trees from the lot and lashed them onto the tops of cars.

"You go on," Amy smiles at me from Clara's passenger seat, "We'll help Jack get Harkness' tree all set up."

"Yeah?" I'm panting a little, and my breath goes up in white puffs.

"Yes," she leans out, curling a finger to beckon me over.

I lean over and put my hands on the door.

Clara's inside smiling at me.

Amy kisses me, "Go. Help your mum. And then take him home and fuck him."

I laugh, and look over my shoulder. He's just getting into my car.

"Shh! We're not there yet, but-"

"Rosie, do something then. Because… it's been so deeply sexually frustrating watching the two of you all night."

"She's right, Rose," Clara leans into view, "very frustrating."

I sigh, and check the ropes on their car before slapping the roof and turning back to my own car. She rolls up her window and Clara starts the car.

I'm at my car, hand on the handle.

Clara honks at me.

Startled, I look back, peering into their dark car.

Amy's gesturing what I can only vaguely see as a very enthusiastic blow job pantomime, hand stroking air toward her mouth, tongue pressing rhythmically against the inside of her cheek.

Then she gives me a thumbs up and they drive away.

OoO

Mum's place is a blur.

I know we got her tree inside.

I know we did.

Together.

I know we put it in the living room.

I know that she couldn't decide if she wanted it in front of the window or not.

And I know that I was so frustrated that I finally just said that there, right there, was the most perfect place for any Christmas tree ever.

I know that we politely refused hot chocolate.

And I know I drove over the speed limit on the way to my house.

But it was a clear night.

So clear.

And, dammit, I needed to.

We leave my tree on the roof of the car.

It can fucking wait.

I can't.

He can't.

My hands shake as I unlock the front door.

It's very warm inside.

I'm very warm.

He's pulling off his gloves.

I'm breathing heavy.

I need to check on Mickey, who is slamming against the back door like a battering ram.

I pet him, check his food and water, and then much to his dismay, leave him outside.

When I come back in, David's out of his coat.

And I can see the tension in him, in all of him.

And he's breathing fast as well.

I can't look away from him, so with my eyes on his face, I start unbuttoning my coat.

He moves fast, pushing my hands out of the way and undoing them faster, and I kiss him. He's pushing the thick black wool off my shoulders, down my arms, and laughing against my mouth when the sleeves bunch stubbornly at my wrists.

He peels one glove off of my hand, turning it inside out.

I take the other one off.

He tugs at the seam of my dress.

"Bedroom."

I remember that word.

It's one of the few words I do remember.

Bedroom.

Skin.

Yes.

David.

Third base.

That's what we're doing here.

In my bedroom.

I remember the way he sounded that night, when we first… we talked about bases.

The edge in his voice, saying once word.

One bizarrely clinical word.

Oral.

And I…

We're here. Now.

We are leaving second.

We are leaving second and his fingers are strong against my waist pulling my dress up.

And over my head.

The shoes and stockings are still on.

My bra and knickers are still on.

His shirt, still on.

But as far as I'm concerned, I'm off second.

His mouth is so hot and so perfect and I never want to not be kissing him.

"Ahh…" I pull back and reach down, nearly losing my balance as I start frantically and pointlessly tugging at the laces of my trainers.

He watches me for a second and then bends, fast, crouching in front of me and gently untying my shoes.

He puts a hand under the back of my left knee, and I lift that foot.

He pulls off my shoe.

And slowly my stockings.

And he kisses my kneecap, eyes closed and lips warm, before turning to the other leg.

He takes off my other shoe and stocking, kisses that knee and then looks up at me.

"Fuck, David…"

His breathing hitches.

His hands are against the backs on my thighs, which somehow miraculously are still holding me upright, "Take that off."

I nod fast, and unbutton.

I pull at his shirt, fumbling with the last few buttons.

I feel his chuckle as he stands up, hands calm on the tie, pulling the knot the rest of the way free.

Loose.

And pushing the shirt off.

The skin of his palms on my bare arms, sliding, feeling.

"So many layers," his fingers are latching under the lace strap of my knickers.

I lift my bum so he can slowly slid them down, I'm so wet and hot right now.

I feel like I'm going to explode.

"Mmm."

He lifts it off.

Away from my body.

He's still mostly clothed.

And the feeling of his clothes, buttons and structure, against my skin…

It's amazing but I need…

"I need…"

"Is this okay, Rose?"

"Do you really need to ask me that?" I pant.

"Yes. I do."

I nod, "Yes. This is… this is so far past okay, I don't even know what I'd call it."

He chuckles.

He touches me, lightly but without hesitation, his is hand hot sliding up my stomach, cupping my breast through my bra, squeezing it gently.

I moan, I need him.

I need him right now.

He fumbles a little with the clasps around back, I almost tell him to just rip it off, but it's my favorite bra.

He discards the offending piece of clothing without a second thought, and I'm not completely naked in front of him.

The cool air of the room hits my breasts and my nipples instantly go hard.

The sound he makes almost sounds inhuman, his eyes look completely black in the dim light.

He stares at me with a look of hunger that sends a thrill through me and pools hot and throbbing between my legs.

He leans into me running his tongue down from my throat to the peaked mound of my breast.

My nipple is in his mouth, it feels hot. My breath catches in my throat.

His hand slides down my thigh his palm cupping me, his finger so lightly grazed my wet lips.

My world breaks apart.

I'm kissing his neck, biting his shoulder rough, and moaning and I can hear myself but I don't... I don't sound like me.

"I…" I kiss his jaw, "Take… take this off."

He nods.

I undo his belt while he fumbles with the rest.

He slips out of his shoes, fast, and as he's pulling the shirt away from his chest, I unzip his pants and let them slide down past his hips, the weight of his phone and his wallet in the pockets weighing them down.

He steps out of them.

I bend and kiss him, skin against skin, and this is familiar except for the new thinness of the barrier between us.

No slacks.

Just pants.

He steps back, leaning on the dresser, and I am fascinated by the play of muscles as he bends and pulls both his socks off.

And I'm on him again.

On my bed.

Over him.

I am…

Between his legs.

I don't even exist anymore.

I think.

Or… I must exist, because I'm thinking about how I don't exist.

So I do.

But with his cock against me.

And just cotton between us.

I grind against him, and he thrusts back up against me.

And we meet.

I gasp.

He pushes me back, one hand between my breasts, flat.

He rolls me onto my back and follows, pinning me under himself. Hips against my hips, hand twisted in my hair, pulling my head back, exposing my throat.

He's incredible.

Better than me.

I'm… I'm inadequate here.

He kisses my throat and I moan his name.

And says something back, but I can't hear him past the blood in my ears.

He lets go of my hair.

And kisses lower. The center of my chest.

My nipple.

I crane my neck to watch him.

Teeth close around me, delicately… he has so much control… and his shoulders.

My god, his shoulders.

The way he's holding himself over me, everything is in his shoulders.

Broad, smooth, freckled and scared…

I touch them and his eyes snap up to me.

I take off his glasses, fold them, and put them on my nightstand.

He blinks slowly, watching me.

"Okay?"

He nods, kissing my nipple again.

And then teeth, again.

Teeth.

And suction

"Oh."

I feel my hips twist up, of their own volition, towards him.

He smiles and presses down against me with his hand. Holding me in place, he kisses further, lower, down my belly, kissing my ribs, following a path down to the dark damp curls.

I feel his breath on me.

I look down as his fingers bend with more self-control than I have ever hand in my life, he stops.

He looks up at me, hair thick and dark and over his eyes.

I reach up with a shaking hand and push it out of the way.

So I can see him and he can see me.

"Okay?"

I nod, "Yes. Please."

He smiles, a real wide honest smile and kisses me once through the fabric.

I can't breathe.

His hands slip under my hips, and squeezes.

Every breath he takes feels warm. On my cooling flesh.

Fucking hell.

I watch him.

I watch him gently, so carefully, slides his tongue down along my slit.

I almost cum right there.

He strokes up, with such a perfect motion, and then down, and I swear, for the rest of my life, I don't know that there will be a more erotic, more perfect sight than that moment. I'm so exposed as his mouth glides down with his hand and the tip of his tongue, so perfect and pink, finding my clit.

I make a sound… I don't know what it is.

He looks up at me, eyes hot and black as he shifts his body forward and opens his mouth, lips… those perfect, wide, smirking lips spreading around my bud.

And the heat of his mouth.

"I'm not going to last long," I pant, desperate, gripping the sheets near my hips.

"That's okay," he says, pausing for a moment over me, looking at me, reaching with his finger he pushes two fingers slowly inside me.

"Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck!"

He strokes me with his mouth, wet skin sliding on wet skin and buries his face against me, against the hot smooth curl of his tongue.

I showered today, before dinner.

I trimmed… I mean… I…

Not that it's going to help me last no-

Oh, fuck!

I curl up, reaching for him in warning because I've completely forgotten how to speak.

His lips are pressed against my clit, his tongue flicking steadily, fingers sliding in and out of me.

Fuck.

"David!"

He hums around me.

I think I die.

I just… cease to be.

In one white hot flare of a moment, his mouth, in the sound of his throat humming and in the vibration of being so close to him… I just stop existing.

And it's heaven.

I don't believe in heaven.

But I find it.

Then.

There.

Gasping with my eyes closed and my hair matted against my forehead with sweat and David's mouth still on me-

Heaven.

I open my eyes, and look down at him.

I have to look.

Because in the time it took to come back into being, I've convinced myself that there is no way that I am this lucky.

There's no way this is really happening.

He's wiping at the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

"Sorry… I should have…lasted longer." I swallow and lose the fight to hold my head up.

He's above me, chest to my chest.

I feel his heart against mine.

He's hot.

And hard against me.

And my eyes open, and I…

I kiss him.

He makes a funny little noise in his throat, one I don't recognize.

It's sweet, such a sweet noise that I kiss him again, deeper, trying to get him to make it again.

I taste myself and him.

I like doing this.

I always have.

I like kissing, after, and tasting… me…

Jimmy called me a jizz-narcissist.

He was one to talk.

His eyes are closed, and I feel him start to find a rhythm against me, rocking gently.

"David, I want you. I need you inside of me."

"I, uh…" he exhales and his eyes open just a sliver, dark lust filled, "Touch me. First."

I nod.

He eases back, rolling to the side.

I follow him.

I touch everywhere.

Everything.

Everything new to me… I need to touch it to know it.

From the chest down, I touch everything, kiss and feel and… memorize as best I can.

He smells so unbelievably good to me.

I put his arm up.

He's smooth, again in such sharp contrast to me… but he does have hair small smatterings here and there.

I kiss him, tasting and smelling sweat and him and it feels…

I mean… it feels like home.

The realization makes me smile, and he feels it, looking down at me.

"What?"

"You smell good."

He smirks, crookedly.

I kiss down his ribs, across the firm flat stretch of his stomach, I feel the muscles flex with each deep breath.

I look up at him, overwhelmed by the smell of him and the taste of his skin, but cognizant enough to know that for him, with him, I need to ask.

I don't want to be a girl that doesn't ask.

He nods, wordlessly, and I pull down his pants.

I was always a kid with a vivid imagination.

Sometimes I'd imagine things for so long, in such detail and perfection that when whatever it was actually came to fruition… be it a birthday present, or a school project or something, the reality would be disappointing.

This is not one of those times.

David's cock is perfect.

Larger than I expected, curved gently, artfully, and thick.

I feel his body tense up.

I've been staring at him, dumbly, and I realize I have no idea how long.

If it was too long…

That seems a little creepy.

But now he's tense.

And not a good tense.

I pull back.

I crawl up to the pillows, next to him, and stretch out.

He doesn't look at me.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" he swallows.

"You are…" I don't have the word, I want to say something really memorable, something personal…

"So sexy."

He laughs.

I smile and kiss his temple, tasting his sweat.

We kiss for a little bit, deep, and he takes my hand, in his, and wraps it around himself.

I groan, and he thrusts into my hand.

"Show me how," I pant, ragged.

He nods, and covering my hand with his own, starts stroking.

He's so smooth.

When he guides my thumb up to the head of his cock to dip into the pre-cum, I kiss him, biting his lip harder than I mean to.

He shows me what he likes, what pressure, the speed…

"Is this what you want?" I ask.

His eyes are shut, tight, brows knit, "Just for now."

"Is this how you want to cum?"

He shakes his head.

"I want to be inside you."

His breathing is erratic with every thrust of his hips into my hand.

"I want you inside me."

He moans thrusting up, his eyes squeezed shut.

"Uh, c-condom?" he says with a strangled sound. "I know we're both clean, but…"

"Right! Yeah, I have some." Quickly I lean over my night stand yanking open the door, grabbing one of the many condoms Amy had given me last week. I'm so glad I took them, I was so embarrassed at first.

He didn't question why I had them in my night stand, thankfully.

Sitting back up, I holding the small sliver package out to him.

"Do you want?"

He smirks shaking his head, "could you, please?" His voice is shaking and I nod ripping open the package.

It's been five years since I've done this. I'm confident I can still do it.

Starting from the tip of his cock, I slowly roll the condom down. I can tell he's fighting not to thrust his hips up as he watches me with his dark gaze.

Once the condom on he sits up grabbing me and pulling me to him, this kiss is slow, passionate.

His tongue exploring my mouth, the taste of me lingering on his lips. Pressing me down onto the mattress, and settles between my legs.

We fit perfectly, so perfect. His cock slips along my dripping folds, every thrust makes me long for more.

I need him inside of me now.

"David, please," I whimper.

He smirks, bending his head nipping at my earlobe.

"I love hearing you say my name." he whispers into my ear.

"David," I whine this time, and he growls pulling my legs up over his hips.

"Are you sure about this, Rose? O…Once I start I don't think I can stop."

"Then don't stop, I need you. I want you."

He shakes his head and smiles at me, encouragingly, then scans my eyes to make sure.

Slowly he thrusts forward, he's so big it stretches and fills me so slowly.

It hurts, it's been so long. I don't want him to know, because even with the hurt it feels incredible as he goes deeper, and deeper inside of me.

I've never felt so full in my life, it feels so good. His pubic bone presses against my clit, and I fight not to grind up against it.

I never want this to end.

He pauses waiting for me to adjust, studying my expression.

"Is this okay?"

I nod, I want to scream 'just fuck me damn it.' But I know he's worried, and it feels really good that he cares enough to be so careful.

Then he starts moving.

God… I feel it in his whole body.

I feel it as sharply and powerfully as if it were my own.

He thrusts slow and deep at first, and our hip meet and grind against each other, every time bringing me closer to the edge.

His head snaps back, jaw open, and me mumbles something close to my ear, completely lost in the sensation.

"Rose, you're so tight." He grunts, his pace picks up bringing us closer together. "You're so fucking amazing, Rose. So fucking beautiful."

I squeeze tighter around the around his cock.

More.

"Ah, Ro-ugh..."

His movement quickens, stroking with faster shorter strokes.

He's loud.

I love that he's loud.

His soft moans turn into shouts of ecstasy matching my own.

Up.

And down.

Always.

With every stroke.

God, he's electric.

Thighs.

Spine.

Arms.

Cock.

I feel his heart and in pulse in his neck at the same time. His face buried into my neck, our bodies flush against each other.

I feel like he's just all heartbeat.

"God, fuck, David," I whine.

His answer is a deep, low sound… maybe in a different language, maybe not.

His heels dig into the bed he thrusts.

He's close.

So am I.

So very close.

He says something that I know for sure isn't in English and his fingers in my hair dig in harder, harder.

"Oh… oh…"

He's tense everywhere, hot and his neck cranes up and away, turning his face to mine.

"Oh, fuck! Fuck!"

He cums hard, I can feel his cock pulsing inside of me.

"Oh, ah…" I cry out as I follow right behind him, shattering for a second time. I echo, thrusting gently through the aftershocks, until he holds me still.

His head falls against my shoulder.

He laughs, a full body release. Giddy. Content.

He lays there on me, sagging bonelessly.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"You're heavier than you look."

He exhales a little half chuckle and slides off of me, laying on his back and looking down at the aftermath.

He looks at me.

I bite my lip.

His gaze flickers to my mouth.

He smiles.

Messy hair.

Swollen lips.

Dark eyes.

Quickly he gets up disposing of the condom, quickly cleaning himself up, then settles back onto be bedside me.

I scoot down, staying to his side cuddling close to him.. He feels so good, so different but perfect.

His arms wrap around me pulling me even closer against him.

He's quiet for a while, but I feel his breath hitch.

I hesitate.

I look up at him.

"Are you okay?"

He nods. "I'm happy, I haven't felt this way in a long time."

He sighs above me.

I lay back next to him.

He kisses me possessively, tasting.

We lay back.

We hold each other close.

It's comfortable, but we study each other.

It's funny… the way that this makes things that were impersonal personal, and things that were personal impersonal.

I think we're both trying to see what, if anything, this has changed in the other.

I smile.

And so does he.

"That was one hell of a third base," I say finally, my throat thick.

He nods, "Yes it fucking was."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

He looks at me, seriously, "I'm so far past okay, Rose…" he trails off and smiles.

I kiss him softly.

When we part, he looks down at me, "Again?"

I shrug, "Five years, David."

He chuckles privately.

"But, I mean… I'm too tired to do anything about it."

"Welcome to your mid twenties," he yawns, grinning, "it's all downhill from here."

"Oh really?" I watch as he closes his eyes, "Are you downhill from me then, old man?"

He nods, "Mmhmm..."

I take the hint and, after turning off the light, curl up against his chest.

I listen to his heartbeat.

I can't get over how well we fit.

I'm in a haze.

Full of endorphins and…

When I wake up in the morning, we haven't moved.

Except that his hand is curled into mine.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Oh boy, I am really late on this one. I've been very sick, my blood pressure for some unknown reason skyrocketed, and I was in and out of the hospital. I'm a bit better now. So, I thought I would get this chapter up now. This chapter is NSFW, it's filled with more David, Rose lovin'.**

**I can't wait for every ones feedback, and I hope I can get back to the daily updates soon.**

**Thank you all so much.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"I'm just going to put this right here."

Mid-foam art, I give Amy a look.

I hope that it's an effective, please, stop look, but the fact that she looks at my face, laughs, says, "Oh, that face!" and pats my cheek tells me that it was, uh, less than effective.

"What is it?" David looks down at the piece of paper between us on the counter.

"The deadline to sign up is today, Rosie…" she says to me, standing behind me and holding arms, "Have you been working out?"

"Uhh…" I sigh as she continues to squeeze my arms like she's testing them for ripeness, "No?"

I haven't, really.

Except for… I mean…

I consider fooling around to be a kind of working out.

My heart rate is elevated.

I get endorphins.

I get sweaty.

Best workout ever? Yes.

David picks up the art competition flyer, reads it and looks over the top of it at me, "You haven't said anything about this."

"I…" I shrug, focusing on his coffee, "I mean… the Lords of Time dominates every year. Without fail."

"Lords of Time?"

"Yeah… the uh, they are an elite group of artist on High Street?"

"Ah."

It's Thursday, and busy. A line is already forming behind him.

I hand him his breva and he takes it carefully, then looks at the foam.

He smiles.

It's a foam panda bear kind of Thursday.

He takes the flyer and his coffee and sits down at a momentarily empty table by the window and I'm swamped for the next twenty minutes.

By the time I make it over to him, I'm bone tired.

He looks up at me from Return of the King.

I reach for his empty cup.

"Are you going to enter?" he asks quietly.

"Hmm?"

He's avoiding my eyes, but pushes the flyer across the table at me, "You're really talented, Rose."

"In the medium of coffee-" I say, trying to sound self-deprecating.

"Your paintings are amazing."

He looks at me.

"I…"

He shrugs, "Or don't. It's up to you, but, I've seen the Lords of Time exhibits before. I was unimpressed. I think you'd do really well."

"When did you go to Lords of Time?"

"I went there for a while… when I was searching for the right place to sell my photos," he smirks.

"And Harkness' won out over the Lords, huh?" I say goofily.

"Yeah. She did."

I don't entirely know what possesses me to do it.

We're not…

He's not a PDA guy.

I don't really know if I'm a PDA girl or not. Jim was always really hot and hot about it. Like… either nothing at all, or… like… we're going to be arrested for doing this near a school zone.

Like a lot of things. I'm figuring it out. Now.

But I bend down and kiss him, quick and light.

And he lets me, lips curling against mine.

I expected him to feel tense…

But he's not tense.

He feels… good. Relaxed.

He feels like Thursday morning.

OoO

"What made you change your mind?"

It's a Monday night and Rory's cradling a $50 silicone whisk in his hands and looking at it as if it might possess the answer all his life's problems.

I sip my mall hot chocolate, okay but not great, a little too gritty, "It'll be good for Harkness'… I mean, I probably won't win, but I…" I smile, "I think I'll do well."

"Should I buy this?"

He holds up the whisk.

"Do you have a whisk already?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like your whisk?"

"You know, Ro, I've never really spent too much time thinking about it…" he sets it back down and picks up a silicone basting brush, "I don't have one of these though."

"I don't think anyone does."

He laughs.

We came to this snooty kitchenware store because he needed to get out of the house and away from a mostly finished Justice seminar.

And because he, apparently, really likes snooty, unnecessary kitchenware.

Me… I believe in the teachings of Alton and never buy anything that can't be used for multiple purposes; so sayeth Alton Brown, so doth Rose Tyler.

He looks better than he did in the midst of what we are now referring to his seminar meltdown.

Like a weight has lifted over the last few days.

A sales girl comes by and asks him if he has any questions, and I see the charm turn on.

Flirty Rory, when he's fully engaged the Flirt-Mode has, like, a tangible gravitational pull.

I step back, out of range, looking at a rack of over-priced oven mitts and watch.

The sales girl, a cute little blonde alt girl with black-ink half sleeves, offers to show him the new line, which apparently has a whisk he just won't believe.

He tucks his hair behind his ears and follows her, giving me a look over his shoulder as he goes.

I set down my hot chocolate on the shelf and pull out my phone.

No new messages.

I feel the need to text him.

- How is it?

Tonight he's at the warehouse shooting a new play. He wasn't looking forward to it. Not one bit.

Since we started, seeing each other he's pretty much taken on his hobby full time.

Last night he'd tried to explain the plot to me in bed and finally gave up, laughing and saying that it had something to do with two rivals vying for a kingship in a fictional subterranean civilization… but both were awful choices and that it was, ultimately, just three hours of frustration, boredom, and vague political intrigue.

As annoyed as he was, I love the way his voice sounds in bed.

Lying on his back or his side… it's different.

Like a shield that's normally up is let down.

I haven't been getting as much sleep as I'm used to because of it… but I couldn't care less.

Sure, I'm a little punchy.

I'm drinking more coffee.

I drank so much coffee yesterday that I had heart palpitations.

And it's really hard to get up early for work-

But… I think it'd be hard to get out a bed with him in it no matter how much sleep I'd gotten the night before.

I smile.

My phone vibrates.

Grating. 1 hour into a 3 hour show. kill me now, Ro.

I laugh.

I like it when he calls me Ro.

Rory started it, out of the blue.

And it stuck, I wasn't sure I liked it at first.

I do now…

I'm texting him back when Rory comes back, alone, with a bag in his hand and a smile.

"What'd you buy?"

He sighs, "A $70 whisk that, she swears, will change everything."

"She?"

"Liz."

I pick up my hot chocolate, "Did you get her number?"

He smiles, "Maybe."

"Well, now that your whisk situation is under control," I grimace, "you're still feeling up to this?"

He nods enthusiastically, "Hell yes I am."

I sigh.

"Let's go get the women then. Ugh… I don't understand you three."

When I told the three of them via text that I would be free tonight if they wanted to hang out, they had replied, separately, instantly… and when given the choice of what they wanted to do…

"You mum is magnificent," he says, throwing an arm up around my shoulders, "we love her. Almost as much as we love you."

They wanted to hang out at my mum's house.

OoO

She spread out a blanket on the living room floor and that's where the four of them are sitting.

I am sitting on the couch, because of my tailbone, with a mostly devoured bowl of curry in my lap.

"He is very dashing," Mum says, patting Rory's knee, "but I'm not really looking. I'm perfectly content to just…" she waves her hand, "not date."

"Oh, Jackie," Amy tears off half a naan, "but… aren't you going mad?"

Mum looks up at me, "No. I'm… happy. And I have battery operated devices to stave off insanity," I try to pretend that she didn't say 'devices'… plural "Besides, dating is awful… I got so lucky with Pete! Found him early… then, very quickly got pregnant with Rose. Total shock to us both!" she laughs, "back in the dark ages, no one bothered to tell me that antibiotics and the pill didn't mix."

"You mean that our sweet baby Rosie was a surprise?" Amy asks, grinning and licking curry off of her thumb.

"Oh, god yes! Completely unplanned. God, I didn't want babies then! Oh, my parents were furious…" she smiles warmly at me, "but, I wouldn't take back any of that… not the-"

"Mum, no!"

"—syphilis that put us both on the antibiotics, not my parent's wrath…" she covers her heart with her hand, "because I ended up marrying that man, which I might otherwise have not done, and having this beautiful girl… and then my beautiful Tony… and I haven't been out there for almost thirty years. Your whole lives! No…" she smiles, "with my luck, I'd end up finding some horrible, deadbeat… or a cannibal or, a… Jeffrey Dahmer or something."

I swallow more curry even though I'm already full to bursting.

She doesn't want to date.

She's not interested.

Because she's still completely in love with Dad.

The curry gets stuck by the huge emotional knot in my chest.

I cough.

Clara hops up next to me and hits my back helpfully.

"Ow! Your little fists are hard," I look at her, "Thanks."

"Anytime, Rose," she says seriously.

I'm genuinely emotional. Vulnerable, even.

It's one of those strange moments where I feel like I'm sitting there and seeing my mum not as mum, but as one adult looking at another adult and understanding.

That kind of hole, left by someone...

We have a moment.

Dad would love it.

But he'd love the next moment more.

Because he had a real wicked sense of humor and loved watching us squirm.

"But I'm not the Tyler sleeping with someone new and cute and exciting!" she beams.

I squirm.

"That's very true," Rory sits up, folding his legs, "and she's been stingy on the details."

It's an ambush.

A loving-ambush.

But still.

"Stingy! Really?" I look at Rory, then at Mum. "Really?"

"Oh, come on, Rosie…" Amy rests her head on my knee, looking up at me, "We have been good and left you alone about it for almost a week"

"A week?!" Mum looks at me, dawning realization sliding into place, "The night of the Christmas trees? Was that when you… oh… that explains why both of you were so pinched when you were here."

Pinched.

"You could have just said something, sweetheart! Jesus… I wouldn't have kept you!"

I heave a dramatic sigh and let my head fall back against the couch. I stare up at the ceiling.

"We…" this is my actual real life "we haven't… Really? We're on third."

"Third!" I know that Amy's sneering without seeing her face, "Third what? Third base? What is this, eleventh grade?!"

"Oh… I think it's sweet!" Clara says, patting my head, "You're so sweet, you two. Oh… the puppy-eyes he gives you…"

My head snaps up, "Puppy-eyes?"

They're all so tickled.

And… I mean… I think they should be. Or they have a right to be.

Without them, this wouldn't have happened.

They are my syphilis.

Or maybe my antibiotic.

Either way… they were there every awkward step of the way…

And now?

"What… stingy…" I laugh, "Gah! I'm going to regret this… and I reserve to the right no not answer anything, at my discretion! What do you want to know?"

At least he's not here.

Not that I'd really put it past them to do something like this with him present…

"Cut or Uncut?" Amy throws down.

"Veto!"

"Barbaric practice… I don't understand it… Rory, are you-" Mum offers.

"Uncut," Rory and Amy answer comfortably at the same time.

"Oh good."

I sigh.

"What…" Rory's smirking, "Define Third Base for me."

"Uhh…" understand… my mum is not like other mums… she worked for a women's health clinic for years, directing a safe sex outreach program in high schools.

This is my life…

This is, I mean I don't want to bandy around the word normal… but… this is far less weird than I logically know if should be, "Uh… up to and including… oral…and other. Uh."

"Ah."

"Is he what you thought he'd be like?" Clara asks me, "I don't mean… well, not strictly speaking about what he's like in bed… but… is he what you thought he'd be like?"

I want to say yes.

Better than, even.

More… something.

'Complicated' isn't the right word.

But he is that, too.

He is.

But that's too private.

I nod.

Clara coos like a little pigeon and leans forward, resting her head on my shoulder.

"So effing sweet my teeth ache," Amy rolls her eyes and smiles at me.

"I'm so proud of you, Rose. Going to the clinic and making sure everything is on the up and up."

"Mum…"

"Don't get me wrong, I can't wait to have grandbabies but it's so responsible of you to get the shot until you're ready."

"Thanks mum…"

"You're welcome dear, you can never be too careful. Always best to be prepared." She nods smirking, and I know that look. It's that, 'I'm about to be completely embarrassed' look. "Have you been on top, sweetheart?" Mum asks me this sweetly, as sweetly as if she asked me if I was painting a landscape or if I wouldn't mind passing her the hummus.

Again… this is… kind of normal.

But I hesitate.

The four of them watch me closely.

Amy's eyebrow darts up, "Was he on top? I thought he might be."

Then she looks at my mum.

Because mum's, inherently, have answers.

"Well… I mean," My mum reaches for a bit more naan, "Now, I always assumed you were versatile, sweetie, unless I've been-"

"Stop!" I start laughing.

And blushing.

In earnest.

"Stop! Ah!" I lean forward, tucking my chest against my thighs and grabbing my hair and just laugh.

They're laughing to, even Mum who stands up insisting that she thinks she has a book about this...

"I love you," I choke out, unable to catch a breath, "I love you so much, you weird, weird people. But, please… stop."

OoO

I hear him knock.

It's late.

But I'm up.

Mickey pushes his way past my legs, nearly taking me down as I open the door.

David's drowning in bags of camera equipment, Sherpa-like, but he crouches anyway and pets Mickey who shoulders me out of the way to get to him.

"Hey," David says to Mickey, digging his fingers into the thick folds of his neck.

"Come inside, it's freezing," he may be wearing a coat but I'm just in a t-shirt and sweats and the cold air has almost taken my breath away.

He pats Mickey firmly on the ribs and stands up, shifting straps as he does so.

I grab one strap that's about the slip off his shoulder.

"Ah, thanks," he rumbles, sounding tired and pushes Mickey through the door, back inside.

I close the door when he's in and watch as he starts gently setting things down.

"Bad play?"

"Hmm," he sighs, "Long play."

He'd called me from the warehouse and asked if it was okay to come over.

The stage manager had dropped him off.

It was too cold to walk.

And my place is warm.

He takes off his coat, "Thanks, for… letting me come over… I feel..." coat off, he gestures towards his head with a tilting hand, a vague description of what's going on in there, and sighs, "needed to decompress."

"Decompress, huh?"

He smiles up at me in the dark.

Apparently tonight David's idea of decompression involved the two of us naked, in my bed, him over me with me between his legs, and his cock deep in my throat.

It was an idea that he confessed had been plaguing him all night.

And only made the play feel that much longer.

OoO

God… the feeling of his skin sliding against mine, slick and hot and smooth and familiar in ways I can't explain…

"So f-fucking good," I barely say it out loud. I barely have a voice, "David…"

His back is curved, face pressed against my chest, grounding him to me as his body works over mine, arching and driving skin against skin.

My arms are up by my head, pressed against my ears. He's braced on his elbows and holds my arms in his hands, thumbs pressed firmly into my armpits.

Long graceful thrusts, perfect and, god... and... His control.

His cock slides slick along my folds the pulsing need for him to be inside me at its peak.

I don't want to cum like this, with just this, but I wouldn't complain if he just wanted to do this forever. I don't need to do anything else ever again.

I'm floating somewhere.

I weigh nothing.

"Rose- fuck yes…" he grunts, and I swear I hear a different accent in his voice.

Southern?

I smile.

I've heard it before… just a few times… this secret little accent that comes out when he's close.

His back curls up like a cat with every thrust, and I feel the strength in his arms, in the places our bodies touch.

I want to feel the shape of him moving in the dark, but he holds my arms in place.

He gasps against my heart, forehead thudding hard against me.

He pulls up and away from me, taking all the air in my lungs with him.

I hate the way air feels where he was pressed against me, cold where his sweat and mine have pooled on my body.

He repositions himself between my legs, guiding my unwieldy, thighs where he wants them.

I just watch him.

I let him bend me where and how he wants.

I feels so good, just this, just… letting him.

God.

Fuck.

David.

In the light, I see him, all scars and skin, hard lean muscle, breathing and flexing and-

He bends my legs, pushing them up. He kisses the inside of my thigh and holds my right knee with a hot palm, fingertips digging into my skin above the bone.

He positioned himself against my entrance, his eyes are dark, hungry bore into mine. Without a word he thrust forward filling me completely all at once.

"Fuck!"

I feel so full, so complete. I have never felt anything so amazing in my life.

I want to watch, but my eyes close and my head falls back into the pillow.

His cock.

His hands.

I mumble blindly.

I feel him laugh, a deep rough sound that ripples through my whole body.

I look up at him, "What?"

He doesn't stop moving, doesn't stop, "You like this?"

"God… yes," I gasp. He pulls out completely then pushes his cock in deeper.

"Tell me." His voice strangled.

God the sound of his voice… that edge…

"Yes! I… oh, god, David… this feels so good…" I bite the inside of my cheek.

He growls, a dangerous quiet sound, "God, your voice…"

"My voice?"

He thrusts faster against me and, gripping my hips tighter and faster.

"Yes, ah."

His head falls back.

He's on his knees, holding me where he wants me.

Throat.

Scars.

The waves of muscle as his body moves us together.

Fuck.

"Talk, Rose," he's close, and, fuck… I am too, "…please."

"You… like my voice?"

He moans, smiles this beautiful fucking smile, and leans forward, still thrusting but leaning over me, weight braced on his other hand on the bed. He's voice is ragged, "Clearly."

"Really?"

"Yes. Fuck. Yes. And you talk so fucking much."

"Ahhh… I do."

"All the fucking time," he's smiling.

"I can't stop."

He's between my legs, thrusting, and I feel… like something unlocks… I don't know… I don't understand.

I talk.

"I want you. God, this is… you feel… I want, you to keep fucking me," he moans loudly, surprised, he speeds up, breaks his rhythm, "David, I want you to cum inside. Please- Fuck. Yes…"

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Say that again."

"What?"

"Say-"

"I want you to cum inside..."

"Ahh…"

I do.

I want that. I-

Oh, fuck, I'm close.

"David."

His jaw is slack, mouth open, and eyes shut tight.

He presses his forehead against mine, neck tight, shuddering with the effort with the edge.

"Fuck!"

He cums hard inside of me, that feeling as he pulses.

It's like he's making me his.

And that's…

Well that's more than enough for me, "David! I love you…"

The words came out so fast and easily. I mean them, I really do.

I come so hard it almost hurts.

I am, as I always am, momentarily obliterated.

The feeling of his tongue on my skin is what brings be back to life.

With his head bent, hair in his eyes, he licks and nips along my jawline. I curl up, involuntarily as the combined aftershock and the pleasantly weird sensation of the tip of his tongue he chuckles softly.

I dig the fingers of both hands into his thick hair, watching him while the endorphins in my body ping around like angry wasps.

Wasps?

Yes, wasps.

He pushes himself up, and holds my wrist, kissing the inside of it.

He settles back into the pillows next to me while I roll to grab a towel off the floor and clean myself up.

"Did you…" he asks as I clean myself off, his voice sleepy and low, "mean that? What you said? Or was that just… it's okay if it was-"

I know immediately what he means.

"Yes. I… did. Mean it. I haven't said that to anyone…" I drop the towel to the floor, "in a very long time."

"Really?"

"Well, my mum. She doesn't count."

"Oh…" his eyebrows go up, "Really?"

He turns to me, kissing me suddenly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I mean… I don't want you to feel pressured to say it back. I mean, if you're not ready."

He laughs, and runs a thumb across my lip, "Really?"

"Shocking, right?"

He smiles, eyes hidden behind thick black eyelashes, as he looks at my mouth, "Not right now. But… I do feel it, Rose. It's just not easy for me…you know."

I'm tapped out, exhausted, full of endorphin-wasps but the ghost of that edge is in his voice and it tightens something inside of me.

I swallow, "I guess that's kind of a big deal, right?"

"It, uh," he blinks slowly, carefully, and I hear the edge soften and blur as something that isn't an accent and isn't an edge takes its place, "it would have been a big deal anyway."

I drift, happy, content-

"Rose?"

I'm already almost asleep, "Mmhmm?"

"I need to tell you something."

My eyes snap open.

That's never a good sentence.

Never.

"What?" all my wasps die.

"Do you remember, when you asked if I saw you in the shower and I said no, I hadn't," he smiles, like a wolf would smile if wolves smiled, "I lied. I saw everything."

"You bastard!" I sigh, rattled, and grab him, rolling over him, pinning him under me.

He's laughing, near a giggle, "I couldn't live with that lie anymore."

"You bastard," I laugh softly, and when I kiss him, I realize there are still a few wasps limping around inside.

Wasps are resilient like that.


	24. Chapter 24

"Hmm."

Click.

This is too tight.

I swallow.

Click.

Okay, no… no. Too tight.

I tug at the turtle neck.

"Rose," he's quite, like library-quiet, and that catches me off guard, "Don't pull on that, you'll stretch it out."

I sigh.

Click.

"I think it's too tight."

"I think its fine," he smiles and lowers the camera just enough to look at me, "you just never wear turtle necks. That's what they feel like."

"I do."

Click.

"Sometimes."

Click.

This is for the competition.

They want headshots of all the competitors.

Why… I don't know.

I mean, I know. There's a printed program for the event; a photo and a biography of all the competitors and information about each of the artist or each respective competitor.

Still, it feels silly.

I don't entirely know what it matters what they person doing the paintings looks like…

Click.

"Turn left, just a… yeah."

Actually gearing up for the competition part of the event has been easy, cathartic, soothing even. Exciting. I'm pushing myself in new ways and that feels really good. I love what I do. I get really zen about it. I've been feeling extra zen lately… as a result.

But the other stuff?

New clothes.

Headshots.

I let Amy clean up my eyebrows a little.

A little.

Even just doing the bit in the middle, the pain was exquisite.

I don't care what she says, I didn't cry…

But my eyes did water.

She had been so delighted.

Sadist.

"Hmm. Chin up a little."

I lift my chin.

"Too much," he smirks, "Down."

He tries to talk me into the right chin position, but finally gives up with an exasperated little growl and walks up to me, standing between my knees where I'm perched on the stool.

The corner of his mouth tugs a little, and he reaches for my jaw, gently, guiding my head into the best light.

But he pauses, fingers against my skin.

My skin.

Jack asked if I wouldn't mind getting a new hair cut for the competition.

I thought it was kind of a strange request.

But I was, effectively, being Harkness' face and if Jack wants Harkness' face to have a new hair cut…

I was going to cut it myself this morning alone in my bathroom.

It was... hard. I love my long hair.

Amy came to my rescue, she took hairdressing in school.

I've been startled by the stranger in every damn reflective surface all day long.

When David saw me at 10:00 (he was still asleep when I left for work), he did as close to a double-take as I think I'll ever see out of him.

By which I mean, of course, that he tilted his head at me like an owl and said, "Huh."

And then stared at me and smiled his wolf-smile while I got his coffee.

He brushes the heel of his hand against my cheek.

"Hmm."

I lean into it.

And out of the light.

He sighs, frustrated but not really.

"Sorry," I'm not really sorry. I kiss the inside of his palm.

As much as I miss my long hair, I love the way he's looking at me right now.

And on top of that neat little sensory treat, what really makes that want tighten inside of me is that in his palm, I taste him, and just the faintest hint of me.

He clears his throat and blinks fast, looking away from me at the window.

Gold end of the day sunlight catches the chocolate brown of his eyes.

That's my favorite color.

That light brown flash.

"Losing the light," he mumbles, turning back to me and repositioning my head again, reaching to touch my hair but thinking better of it, he steps back, backwards.

"It's too bad they want black and white," he says.

Click.

"You only shoot black and white," I say, trying to hold still.

"Relax," Click "And I don't. Color… I like color. When color is interesting."

"Is there an interesting color here?"

Click.

"Your eyes," Click, "in this light? They're…"

Click.

He waits for the right word, "Striking."

I smile.

Click.

My hair, I want to touch it.

I've been rubbing my fingers through it all day.

Highly unsanitary habit for food service.

But it's just so weird.

"It's a bit shorter than I thought it would be."

Click.

I've had long hair for years.

It'll come back.

Given three days of unheeded growth, it'll start coming back in and being longer.

I miss it.

Like an old friend.

Who lived on my head.

Click.

"What are you thinking about?"

I laugh, "Really deep thoughts."

Click.

"Oh yeah?"

"I was thinking about my hair."

"Ahh."

As soon as he tells me that he got it and gives me the all-clear, I pull the turtle neck up over my head.

Click.

"What are you…"

Click.

I smile and stand up, pulling the sweater off my head, I'm wearing a thin very tight t-shirt underneath "I thought you got it."

"I did."

Click.

"So…"

"So," he smirks.

And Clicks.

"Sit down."

I sit.

Click.

Something changes.

It's… I can taste it in my mouth.

Metallic.

And real, a real change.

Just as real as the change in light.

Click.

"Take that off."

"Oh…" my fingers are at the bottom of my shirt tugging it up slowly, "it's like that?"

"Hmm…" he crouches, "yeah… it is."

Normally… under any other circumstances…

I'd feel really uncomfortable about this.

I'm not a shirtless-picture kind of girl.

I'm not.

But… here? In his flat.

With his camera?

And his eye?

I feel safe.

I trust him.

And, also?

This is hot.

Click.

I pull my shirt off slowly, exposing me in my black and red lacy bra.

Click.

I pull the sleeves down my arms and drop it behind me.

Click.

He stands up. It hits me what's happening and I laugh.

No.

I giggle.

Click.

"You're so fucking cute," he smiles, lowering the camera for a second.

"Oh am I?" I run my hands through my hair and close my eyes tight.

Click.

"Are my nipples showing in this picture?" I look at him.

He laughs thickly, "Do you want them to be?"

Click.

"Hmm… I don't," Click "I don't know!"

He a few more quick shots.

My cheeks feel hot.

I look down at my knees.

I wore my jeans, because they wouldn't show in the headshot.

Click.

I look up.

The camera is gone.

And there's just him.

Against me, warm and solid.

His hand is at the back of my head.

He kisses me, and for a minute I forget how to breathe.

But it doesn't matter.

My arms are full of him.

"David."

I wrap my legs around him as much as I can on the stool without losing my balance and falling off the back.

"You have no idea," he says quietly, low, pulling back from me but not letting go of the back of my head, "do you?"

I swallow, "What?"

He kisses me, and I pull him in.

"What you…" the golden-hour has long passed, but his eyes still manage to catch the light, to flash, "are."

"What am I?"

He smiles, and holds my face between both of his hands, my cheeks pressed between his palms.

I don't get an answer.

But I guess I... I kind of get a non-verbal answer.

I like non-verbal answers with him.

We end up, not long after that, in his bed.

Time doesn't exist there.

In that huge king size bed.

Nope. No time.

Just David.

And me.

And pillows.

And his cock in my mouth.

And his mouth on my clit.

We're on our sides.

His hair is soft on the inside of my thigh, under his head, tickling as his head moves.

As he-

Fuck.

I have to stop.

I can't focus.

I've lost my motor skills.

I shut my eyes and let the weight of my head rest on his thigh, kissing a swirl of white scar deliriously as his tongue-

"Fuck, David!"

I can't see him but I know he smiles.

I don't know how I know.

I just do.

I wrap my hand around him and try, valiantly, to keep stroking him with something that might, in bad lighting, be recognized as rhythm.

I hadn't been sold on this position.

I thought with the height difference-

Fuck the height difference.

One of his arms is curled under my thigh, and his fingers dig into the muscle as his tongue slides up, humming around me.

I love that.

I make a noise that's part groan, part sob when I feel the press of his thumb against my opening.

"Yeah?" he growls, waiting, just there, just outside.

I bend my top leg, trying to get it out of his way, trying to say 'Yes, please, that, please…' without using words because I have completely lost words.

Completely.

I cum on his mouth with my face pressed hard against his thigh, my lip tight around him, and his thumb deep inside me.

Incredible.

Life changing.

I'm a different person after that orgasm.

When I, as a new person, become sentient enough to lean over him, push him onto his back and do my damn best to return the favor, his hands are both on the back of my head.

Not pushing.

Not demanding.

But there.

Really there.

I take as much of him in as I can, trying to breathe on the upstroke, encouraged by the deep, unmonitored sounds he's making and the security of his fingers against my scalp.

"Jesus Christ…" I hear his accent, my nose pressed into the skin of his belly.

He's close.

"Rose," he gasps, and a second later I feel teeth on my thigh. Hard.

He bites me.

I groan around him.

And that's it.

He comes hard, his mouth open and gasping against my leg.

I swallow.

He gets up after a healthy amount of each of us just lying there in the same position, dazed, and gets us both glasses of water.

He hands me mine, and I drink, feeling too loose to sit up.

Water drips down my chin.

Which still feels weird and naked.

I wipe it away and look up at him, upside down.

He's standing there naked and calm and drinking water and I can see him in the thin, indistinct light coming through the window from a streetlamp outside.

It got dark.

But our eyes have adjusted.

I can see him so clearly.

OoO

I'm completely out of it.

Who am I?

What happened?

I did what now?

Why am I wearing this damn turtle neck?

Why is Mum here?

This is good pizza.

Jack pounds me on the back.

"Another round, Rose?"

I shake my head, "No… I'm…"

We're in this pizza place.

I think I picked it.

I think I did.

I think we drove by and I pointed and said, "There."

This is a big deal.

This thing that happened.

This thing that I did earlier today.

"Hey, uh," I hear David.

He's there, standing up.

"I'm going to go out for some air, Rose, do you want to…"

I nod, clumsily standing up out of the booth.

I follow him outside, into cold night air.

"You okay?"

"Huh?"

"You look a little…"

"I am a little…" I lean against the wall, "…did I win?"

He smiles.

I'm Rose Tyler.

I'm the daughter of Pete and Jackie Tyler, older sister of Tony Tyler.

Owner of Mickey.

I'm almost twenty-six years old.

I'm allergic to bees and terrified of spiders.

I work at Harkness' Coffee.

My best friends are inside this pizza place.

I spend most of my nights with, David Smith, photographer, professor, world traveller, love of my life.

I'm happy.

Really happy.

And… today… I became the Champion of Cardiff.

Well... as far as artists go.

"I won?"

"Yes!" he chuckles.

I watch his throat.

"I just… it doesn't feel real! I really…"

I really won.

I beat the Lords of Time.

And, fuck, their guy was good.

And massive.

Physically.

Bigger than David.

Standing next to each other, we dwarfed the judges.

Lords of TIME!

When we arrived in the morning to set up my station, me carrying a jumbled cardboard box of tools, I felt completely outclassed by Lord's massive, streamlined travel equipment in shiny cases.

They came to this every year.

They won every year.

Except for this one.

Jack is as happy as I've ever seen him.

It's a huge deal for Harkness'. Huge.

And for me.

I can't wrap my brain around it.

I didn't sleep very much last night.

Like, at all.

While David slept, I watched episodes of Cheers with the volume turned down low until the sky started turning light.

Cheers is comforting.

Everyone knows your name.

And my dad had a certain Ted Dansen quality.

Comforting.

I fell asleep in the car on the way. Like a little kid.

Jack drove. It was the three of us, David, Jack and I.

Jack asked David to come, to shoot the day.

I suspect he might have come anyway.

Mum drove the station wagon over later in the morning.

With… everyone. Tony had just come home for winter break (mum picked him up in a red shirt last night), so… he got dragged along.

Rory, Amy and Clara were there as well.

Clara and Amy had made me a sign. With glitter.

Which kind of made me want to cry.

Each competitor had a playlist that would play while they worked.

Rory made mine.

I was wearing new clothes, a dress slacks and another turtle neck sweater.

It felt like being in a costume in a play.

Like I was playing Artist Rose Tyler.

But there was no script.

I had a mic on, and was instructed to talk them through my artistic process.

I was worried about that part the most.

The talking.

Because sometimes, most of the time, when I talk is when things go wrong…

But, ultimately… I was just talking about painting.

I was zen-like.

It's a blur now.

I had to ask them later, when we were still milling around, if I'd said anything insane… because I was in a painting-trance or something.

Even Tony assured me that once I got going, I said nothing stupid.

And if Tony told me that…

What it really came down to was a fifteen minute presentation from each of us during which we made three rounds of whatever our artistic expressions were.

Mine was acrylic painting, the guy from Lords was sculpting.

He was good.

Really good.

I was better.

At the end we served a signature drink, that has become Harkness' most popular.

I painted the end of the day, when the sun slips behind the horizon and you see that momentary flare of green at the end of the world…

I guess they liked it.

Because… I won.

Standing outside with David, it feels real.

Like a real thing.

I won.

Which means… recognition, a little trophy (which will live, proudly, at Harkness') a cash prize and a paid trip for two to the national competition in New York.

I start laughing and rub my face.

"Ahh!"

He leans next to me.

"There you are," he says quietly.

"Hmm," I smile down at him, "I wish my dad was here."

He nods.

"You'd have really liked him," his hand finds mine between us, "He'd have really liked you."

He smiles.

"Hey!"

Tony pokes his head out, "Rosie, Jack wants to make a toast."

He darts back inside.

"Come on," David peels away from the wall.

"Will you…"

His head snaps towards me, too fast.

I pause.

"Uh, will you, stay over tonight?"

I feel like he thought I was going to say something else.

He's tense.

Hmm.

"Yeah, of course."

"I'm exhausted," I laugh, pushing off from the wall, "so… you know… don't expect anything."

"Yeah, yeah," he grabs my collar, "you say that now."

He's smiling, but still tense.

There's something there.

But he's pushing it down.

I bite my lip.

"Hey."

He looks up at me.

I can't ask him.

I can't push.

The wind ruffles his hair.

Later.

He nods, like he heard me think.

I kiss him and I feel the tension ebb, a little.

"You… today," he's calm, voice even, close, "you were kind of amazing."

"Kind of?"

"Not kind of. Really."

"Thank you for being there… not, just… not just as a photographer," I sigh as his hand finds my cheek.

"It's still kind of strange hearing your voice come out of this face, you hairs so short." he smirks, fingertips light and warm on my skin.

I shrug, "It's my face."

He pulls me up and kisses my jaw.

"I know. But you just look so… young."

I laugh and curl around him, closing my eyes. I savor the quiet and the cold December air and the warmth of him for just a second, before we go back in.

Inside, it's very warm and very pizza-y, and Jack has magnanimously bought a round for the restaurant.

I sit down, reclaiming my seat next to Rory who throws an arm around my neck while Jack, quite the orator, launches into a surprisingly long speech.

About me.

It feel like it's something Dad would have done.

David sits across from me, smirking the whole time.

I just want to kiss that smirk. All the time.

I drink my shitty American beer when Jack finishes, and I laugh, and I relax.

Because they're all there. Team Tyler.

And because I'm the Champion.

No big deal or anything.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: Hello lovelies, I hope everyone is having an amazing weekend so far. I seem to be pretty much back to normal, and thank you all so much for the reviews! I'm understandably behind on responses, and I will hopefully get caught up soon.**

**This chapter is NSFW, I know another one! I'm on a smut spree. What can I say they're making up for lost time. ;)**

**I look forward to everyones responses to the chapter.**

**Enjoy! **

* * *

"Well, dammit."

Mickey looks at me, clearly unimpressed with my plight.

"I don't know why I do this. I really don't," I mumble, mostly to myself, staring bewildered at the massive tangle of Christmas lights, "You'd think I'd learn, right? Year after year… same thing."

I never put these Christmas lights away properly.

Never.

I always say I'm going to do it properly, but then I get frustrated with them and wad them up into this ball.

This mess.

And then I leave it for next year.

I forget about it entirely, live my life blissfully unaware that this menace is just there, unresolved, lying in wait for me.

And then it's Christmas again… and I remember.

And every year, I get so mad at past-me for not buying one of those plastic winding rack things and putting things away neatly.

"Hopeless," I tug at what looks like a promising strand, which is not promising at all.

"Maybe I'll just leave it like that. That's festive, right?"

I look a Mickey for assurance as I stand up.

"Wait. It gets better," I plug in the tangle and switch off the overhead light.

Warm soft Christmas lighting reflects back at me in Mickey's big brown eyes.

But he still seems unimpressed.

"They still work," I sigh.

Which actually makes it more frustrating.

Because-

Mickey hears the knock at the door before I do and lurches off the couch with so much velocity that it actually scoots the couch backward a couple of inches.

I follow.

At midnight tonight, I'll be twenty-six.

Which… I don't know how I feel about that.

Twenty-six.

I should really have some things figured out by twenty-six, right?

If I'm honest, I think I have more figured out now than I did a year ago, when I was sitting in bed with Mickey and a jar of Nutella and Wheat Thins waiting for the LED numbers on my clock to switch over from 11:59 to 12:00, and my internal clock to flip over from twenty-four to twenty-five.

No… I've done stuff this year.

Really.

"He's coming for you!" I say loud enough that I know David can hear me through the door, as if the pounding dog feet weren't enough of a dead giveaway.

I hear him laugh.

And I grin.

Opening the door, Mickey bounds happily out to him, thudding wide paws on his chest.

"Ahh," David staggers back, not entirely braced for that much dog, but he catches himself and scratches Mickey's ribs enthusiastically.

"Mickey!" I click my tongue with some vague sense of authority. He ignores me entirely.

"Hey, hey," David says quietly and scratches his ears, pushing him down and he goes, trotting back inside past me.

"Oh, I see how it is," I say, looking back over my shoulder as he goes by, tail wagging as he trots off towards my room.

When I turn back, my hand still on the door, David's closer than I expect.

I have no complaints about this.

I kiss him, softly, and close the door.

"Mmm," I didn't turn on any of the lights on the way and the only light is the warm Christmasy glow from the mess in the living room.

It feels cozy.

Or it does now that he's here.

I haven't seen him.

He's been out of town for this snooty wedding at a resort.

But he came back tonight.

We made these plans before he left.

He'd be back on the 23rd.

Epically exciting plans… we're going to make dinner and watch Monty Python until I turn another year older.

He tastes like peppermint.

I go back in for more.

"Hmm," he kisses my chin, "How're the waning hours of twenty-six?"

"So far? Pretty good," I kiss his cheek, "getting better."

"It's dark in here," he observes quietly, setting his bag down with familiarity on the trunk by the door.

"Yeah, I uh…" I lead him into the living room, "I was doing this."

The matted ball looks vaguely B-movie sci-fi, and significantly less than festive.

My tree is there, still undecorated and pointedly unlit.

He chuckles, "You want some help?"

"You want to help me untangle my ball?"

He gives me a look.

I love that look.

"Is this how you want to spend your last hours as a twenty-five year old?"

I shrug, "Yes. It's all I've thought about all day. The only thing that kept me going was saying over and over to myself, 'tonight, when David comes back from that wedding, he's going to come over and sit on my living room floor with me and, hopefully, untangle my ball of lights.'"

He sighs and looks down at it, poking it with his toe. Laughing, he takes off his coat and hat, dropping both onto the couch before kneeling next to the ball.

"I can't help but feel that wine might make this more interesting," he looks up at me imploringly, lit with that soft yellow light, the white lines on his chin so faintly raised.

I go into the kitchen to get the wine, uncorking and pouring in there.

"I would have thought you'd have done this a long time ago," he says, loud enough for me to hear him.

I wait until I come back into the living room to answer.

"Normally I would have," I'm legitimately impressed at how much progress he's made on the ball since I left the room… David's apparently like a John Nash of Christmas lights.

I hand him a glass, "I assumed red was fine."

"You assumed correctly," he takes it from me, smiling up at me for a second, before blinking and taking a sip.

I sit down, cross legged next to him and start picking at the mass.

"This year, I don't know… just got away from me."

"Oh yeah?"

I nod and sip my wine before setting the glass down on the coffee table.

"It's like I've been distracted or something."

He smirks, "Or something."

I realize at a certain point that anytime I jump in and try to help with the de-tangling, I only make it worse, so I give up, get up to turn on some music and then come back, sitting on a pillow and watching him work.

I don't bother turning any other lights on.

The Christmas lights are enough.

His hands keep moving, while he tells me about the wedding - these people had, to quote him, 'Too much damn money' (Say's the man with a boatload of money himself), and the wedding was ridiculously opulent, but the food was great, and after going to so many weddings, that's what he's come to really care about.

I tell him about work. It's been crazy. After a story ran in the paper about the competition, we've been exponentially busier… Amy insists it's due in no small part to the picture of me that ran with the article, and, I don't know about that, but there have been quite a few more teenage boys, coming in - I've never been flirted at so much, so awkwardly in my entire life.

He takes a break now and then to sit back and survey the knot from a distance, sip some wine, and dive back in.

I think he's actually enjoying the puzzle of it.

It's like he's defusing a bomb.

Pulling at the right wires with those long, dexterous, marked fingers—

That I suddenly, and kind of desperately, want in my mouth.

Hmm.

My chest flares hot.

I clear my throat and stand up, "Want more?"

He nods without looking up at me, chin in his hand, surveying.

When I come back with the bottle, he's got his fist buried in the center of what's left of the knot.

And then it unravels.

Like magic.

He pulls it apart.

"You're amazing!" I say un-facetiously, sitting down.

He glances up at me, smirking as he starts to lay out the lights in neat, zigzagging lines on the floor, "What could you possibly need this many Christmas lights for?"

I drink.

"Hmm," he pushes himself forward, on hands and knees, straightening the lines of lights until they look tidy.

Organized.

Neat.

He sits back on his heels.

And I touch his back.

There, that spot that I can find in the dark, on his spine.

His body is warm and solid through the thick fabric of his shirt.

He moans.

He looks at me, studying me for a minute with the same critical, bomb-defusing intensity he'd just employed on about 100 feet of string lights.

And then his hand is against my jaw.

His mouth finds mine.

This wine.

It's a smoky red wine, one that I know he likes, and it just…

It tastes to so right.

On him.

Here.

"I missed you."

"Mmm."

My back is against the couch, my legs bent in front of me. He crawls over me, slipping between my legs, and it's such a fluid move that I'm not entirely sure how he did it.

Not that it matters.

Not with his weight against me, his mouth, his hips.

And his fingers in my hair, pulling my head back.

I gasp.

"David?"

"Mmhm?" against my throat.

"It's almost my birthday."

"Mmhm."

Teeth.

Against my throat.

He's a wolf.

But he's a wolf that I trust with my throat.

"It, ah- sucks having a birthday on a holiday… everyone's always so busy… oh- distracted."

Lips against the underside of my jaw, "I know."

I smile, "I know you know."

He pauses, body still pressed against mine.

He rests his cheek against mine and wraps his arms around my neck.

He hugs me.

And it's…

My eyes sting.

I wrap my arms around his narrow waist and hug him back, closing my eyes.

We found each other.

I prop my chin on his shoulder, "I'm glad you showed up."

"Tonight?"

I laugh quietly, a laugh that sounds more like his laugh than mine, "Yeah," I kiss his shoulder, "tonight."

"Ah," he gets it, I think he knows what I mean.

I hope he does.

Because I don't really know how to say it.

I'm glad you showed up this year.

Because I think I was ready for you.

If you showed up a year ago.

Or a year from now.

Maybe-

I kiss his throat and he sighs.

It doesn't matter.

The maybes.

Because, while I think we would have been okay, separately if the maybes happened.

A year too soon, or too late.

It didn't happen that way.

I'm happy.

And I'm ready.

"I'm ready, David."

"Hmm?"

I slide my hands up, pressing firmly against his spine.

He snaps forward, smiling, eyes closed, "Do that again."

I do.

He growls and grabs my sweater, forehead against mine, "That's a big word, Rose."

Ready.

I swallow, "Yeah. It is."

"Are you sure?"

I nod.

"I need you to say it," his voice drops, the edge there, just barely, and that smooth control slips, gives way to something different.

"I'm ready."

"For what?"

"For you."

I press my fingers against his spine again, then down, holding his hips.

And I can feel him need to move.

"Say it. Say what you want."

I look for his eyes, "I want you… to," I'm not sure which word to use… which one is too soft, or too hard… silly… I don't, I don't… oh, fuck it, Rose, just tell him what you want, it's not like we haven't been doing it for the last few months. This is different this is not just need, this is want, "fuck me."

His control snaps.

He's a wolf.

He devours me.

And I let him.

I have never wanted anything more than this.

Than this.

Than him.

It hasn't been like this before.

There's something gone, dissolved.

He's a dense, heavy force, all of his weight on me.

Without breaking away from my mouth, he pulls at my sweater. I reach down with shaking hands and pull it away from my body, feeling choked inside of it, feeling trapped and the only way to breathe is to be out of it, to be with him.

I pull it off and in the time it takes me to do that, he's unbuttoned his shirt and shucked it off.

I have to feel him.

Hot skin.

Warm light.

Every muscle under his skin moves, glides, deep and solid.

He pushes me back with one solid hand on my chest, and undoes the fly of my jeans with his other, kissing me softly, slowly.

And things slow down.

He's controlling the speed of this.

And we both know that.

He laughs, a soft exhale against me when the zipper sticks, and he uses both hands to finish it.

He pulls away from me. I lift my hips off of the pillow and he pulls them off.

Layers and layers and layers and I let him take all of them.

"God," he sighs against the inside of my thigh, "god, Rose."

He presses his thumbs firmly against my groin, tracing the seam of the legs of my kickers, stroking up, and then back down, the pads of his thumbs coming back together. I'm so wet, my need flares to life with just the slightest touch.

That.

He does that to me.

And it…

It's…

God.

"David," I whine.

"Do you want to do this here?"

That voice.

Smokey.

Thick.

"Yes."

"Not in bed?"

Thick and a smile.

"No, here."

"Okay," he kisses the inside of my leg, "okay," higher, "okay."

His tongue is hot, deliberate through the fabric.

He holds me with steady, strong hands, cupping, pressing his nose against me and breathing in deeply.

"Fuck, you smell good," the vibration of his voice against my clit sends an electric snap through me.

And his hands shift, up, stable against my hips.

He strips them off of me quickly and pushes me up off the floor, sitting on the couch with him kneeling between my legs.

"Spread," he says, and I do, but not enough.

Hands against my knees, pushing me open, wider.

He slips his hands under my knees and pushes them closer to my chest, pulling my ass closer to him.

He sinks down on me, slowly, so, so slowly, using his mouth and his hand together.

What he does…

Is incredible, and I feel like I'm floating… infinite. When he hums…

Just with me on his mouth-

God.

His lips are so soft.

Against me.

And his tongue, so carefully controlled, swirling around my clit.

He pulls off of me with a wet audible sound.

And kisses down.

Further.

I groan.

"God, yes, yes, yes," I babble, straining my neck to look down at him.

He braces his other palm against my ass cheek, kissing further, slowly, so fucking slowly.

I'm breathing quick, shallow, and when I feel the warm pressure of lips, the flutter on tongue again my entrance.

"Yeah," I keen and curl forward.

I break apart.

Into a million bright pieces.

And only David will know how the piece fit back together.

He'll be the only one.

We've done this before.

For each other.

Fucking fantastic.

This was as far as we went.

After this…

What's after this?

Because this, the tip of his tongue pressing in, his hand still working my clit, the heat of his breath and his hands…

If it gets better than this, I'm going to die.

I feel his teeth, possessive against the inside of my thigh and the pad of a finger replaces his tongue.

"Godammit, Rose," ragged, deep, "you're so fucking perfect."

I thread my fingers through his hair, as his head rests heavily against my thigh, high enough that he can tongue my clit while that finger, that finger works so gently, so patiently inside me.

He is hot.

Fever hot.

Everywhere.

I wonder if I feel that way to him.

"David-"

A dark solid blur of movement at the end of the couch snaps both of our attention.

Mickey bounds in, vaulting up onto the couch next to me, apparently not at all perturbed that his two preferred human beings seem to be having a moment.

Or that David's index finger is buried inside of me curled inward to the first knuckle.

Nope.

Mickey doesn't care about that.

He just wants to hang.

I laugh weakly, letting my head drop back miserably.

David's still there, between my legs.

And laughing hoarsely with his forehead pressed against my knee.

"Uh," he sighs, "I'm going to-"

"Ahh!" he's out of me, gently… but I… "I wasn't ready for that," I wheeze.

He kisses just above my hip and stands up, and I see the tension in his entire frame.

"I'll…" he shakes his head, "Mickey!" he pats his thigh and Mickey hops down, excited to be getting attention from him.

David leads him out of the room, and I hear the back door open and close.

But he doesn't come right back.

I wait.

I wait there…

Thinking.

Goddamn, David!

I slide my fingers along my clit.

I'm still slick from his mouth.

Fuck.

When he comes back, after what feels like hours, I'm still there, slumped on the couch, rubbing myself slowly, feet braced on the rug.

And he takes off his glasses, setting them down carefully and goes to retake his position between my legs.

But I stop him.

Sitting forward, I shake my head.

I scoot to the edge of the couch and unfasten his belt.

His breath hitches, and I kiss his stomach softly as I unbutton, unzip.

Sitting on the couch, I'm too high up, so I kneel in front of him.

Hands stroking the hard muscles in the backs of his thighs, I look up at him.

His mouth is open, breathing uneven, jagged, deep.

"David."

He looks at me, opening his dark eyes, and his hands find my head. His fingers curl gently around the shell of my ear.

I lean forward, not taking my eyes from his face, and kiss the hard swell of his cock through the fabric of his pants.

He moans, letting go of my ear and stroking the side of my face with the backs of his fingers.

I push forward, dragging my tongue from cotton-covered root to tip, and back.

He groans and I keep doing that, until the fabric is warm and wet.

I nuzzle against his balls, feeling his weight shift. I press my tongue against the seam, up the center.

"Rose-" his eyes close, and it's a question… but only barely.

I pull his pants down, and as soon as his cock is free, I'm on it.

I try to keep my eyes open.

To look up at him.

Because he's watching me.

He watches.

But I can't.

Until I pull back, holding the base of him with my hand and lightly licking the tip, tasting the salt of his come and his skin as two distinct salts.

I close my lips and kiss him, demurely, eyes open.

I feel him shaking with the effort to hold still.

I let the head of his cock part my lips, and push forward, eye closing as I focus on relaxing-

One of his hands is curled against the top of my head, and the other comes very, very gently against my jaw, holding me. His fingers curl fit so perfectly against the shape of my jawbone, thumb against my cheek, stroking the bone carefully.

Tentative.

So soft.

I could break out of this immediately if it was too much.

If I needed to.

He thrusts shallowly in, in, deeper-

Into my throat.

I hold his thighs, as much for his reassurance as my own.

And I relax.

And breathe.

And swallow.

"Jesus, Rose!" he growls, pauses, thrusts again.

He pulls back, out of me, and I look up at him, gasping for air.

And at that, at the gasp, he drops down in front of me, on his knees, with the rug under us.

He kisses me, chaotically.

"I want you," he holds my head, eyes closed, mouth on mine, "I want you, Rose."

"Please…" I sag into him.

I'm on my back, on the rug, with one of the cushions under my ass, and my legs spread on either side of him.

He runs his tongue along me me again, which sends my brain blinking out into the ether.

"Touch yourself," he says.

And I do.

Slowly.

The wet, slick cool pressure of his fingers against me is so good, so perfect…

And just slightly intrusive.

I trust him, but there's a sudden flare of anxiety in my chest.

I dig my heels into the rug and just try to breathe, and. I feel him stretch out next to me, on his side his hand between my legs, one finger still and deep.

"Hey, relax," he whispers soothingly against my throat, "tell me if you want to stop… we're fine…"

He kisses my shoulder and waits.

He waits.

Until I look at him, and nod, until I'm ready.

He takes his time.

Moving slowly and carefully.

There's no rush.

He holds still when I need him to.

There're no time constraints-

My head rocks back.

Two fingers.

I babble.

He's being thorough.

Three.

"You okay?"

I look at him, my head so heavy to lift off the floor and nod.

"Hey, Rose?"

"Y-yeah?"

"It's 12:02. Happy Birthday," he smiles and kisses me, fingers still moving gently inside.

I laugh shallowly, and kiss him back, holding the back of his head with my free hand.

When he pulls out of me, I feel hollow.

Something deep and instinctive takes over.

It's just… clear.

I need him.

I sip a little wine, shaking hand on the glass, as he stands up.

He settles heavily between my legs, leaning over me to kiss me, deep, long.

"Ready?"

"Fuck, yes."

He smiles. The head of his cock is blunt, thick, fuck, David, so thick-

I reach for him.

Just the tip, and oh, god…

"Fuuuuck," he shifts his weight, braced on his arms, and just that little push makes me see stars, "Fuck you feel good."

"Thanks," I gasp.

He moans, smiling, "Is this okay? You okay?"

"Yes."

I am.

Actually.

That's nothing.

I can feel the tension in him, the control he has as he pushes in, so slowly… not wanting to hurt me, wanting this to be good, wanting for this to make me feel good-

His head sags forward when he's there, balls deep, and we just…

Wait.

And…

His body moves under my hands and he pulls back, out, slowly… and I clench around him.

Back, and back, and then in.

Slow.

Until I can…

Until, fuck-

"More."

He looks at me, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He rocks into me.

Gentle.

Which is good.

Great.

"More."

"Oh, fuck."

He thrusts deeper, home, holding himself up.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

"I want... please."

He growls, "Say it."

"More."

"Say it."

"F-fuck!"

"Rose?"

"Uh…"

He falters, there, on the brink of what I need, what he needs, what I can't find the word for.

"I can't… unless you…" There's something hurt in that voice and I lift my head.

His eyebrows are pinched, tight, eyes closed tight.

This is something buried in him, something new.

No, it's something old.

"David," my voice is weak, hoarse, but his eyes open and he looks at me, "please, fuck me."

"Ahhh," he does.

And, god…

Fucking fantastic.

The kind of sex I might have always wanted for my birthday but never knew to ask for.

Deep, hard thrusts rock me back, my shoulders rubbing hard against the rug under me.

"Is this good?" he gasps.

"Yes," my head rolls, "David, yes… more-"

"More?"

"Yeah."

"More?"

I arch my back, out of a reflex I don't understand from this end, and-

Everything changes.

Something distant and clinical tells me that his cock has found my g spot.

He holds on to me as I twist, overwhelmed.

"Oh, that's what that's like," I mumble.

He slows down, shifting, "I found that for you before."

"Yeah, but not with your cock."

"Yeah, no," he sighs, smiling, "not with my cock."

He finds it for me again.

With his cock.

And again.

And I'm getting close.

I warn him.

Or I think I do.

I try to.

He closes his fingers around mine, weaving his fingers between mine, and I feel the alien heat of his fingertips on that skin, between my own.

He pumps in time with long, deep thrusts.

"I want you to come with me," he says as evenly as I think he can, "I want to feel you come."

I'm close.

His angle is perfect, right there, right-

I'm-

"Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! I fucking love- Oh, fuck!"

White-hot something sears through every single nerve ending I have, especially…

God, especially every nerve ending in me, which… grips him, over and over and over, and it just feels so tight and full and-

Whole.

He's driving in, flushed, beautiful… and he turns away.

"David," I swallow, my mouth is so dry, and I need to see you, don't turn, please… this time, please…

He tries.

He tries to look at me.

I can tell that he does.

He gets close to doing it…

But he ends up coming with his face pressed into the hollow of my throat, shouting into my chest.

We lay there on the rug for what feels like hours.

I'm completely drained.

My bones melted.

David melted my bones.

Totally.

He shivers against me and it's like he comes back to life, he kisses me sleepily and pulls out.

"Oh."

"Okay?"

I nod and he flops down next to me, on his back and stares up at the ceiling.

I glance at the clock on the cable box, "David."

He rolls his head and fixes Brown eyes on me, "Yeah?"

"I'm willing to go out on a limb here and say that this has been the best first thirty-two minutes of any year of my life."

He smiles, too tired to laugh, "High praise, Ro."

I reach for him clumsy, pulling him in.

I kiss his head.

"Jesus Christ!" I mumble into his hair.

He presses slick fingers into my hair, and rumbles agreeably.

"How does it feel being twenty-six?"

"I'm a little sore, actually."

"Ah, yeah," he nods, "that sounds about right. It is a quick and steady decline…"

It's warm in the apartment. I'd cranked the heat up earlier.

Laying here naked with him, I'm glad I did.

It's comfortable.

My presents for everybody are ready to go under my dark tree, just past our feet.

I make presents.

Generally.

I mean… if someone wants something handmade.

Tony couldn't possibly care less about handmade presents, so I buy his.

But I made most of them this year. Often finishing things with David here, on Monty Python nights.

I sit up and crawl forward, feeling giddy.

I made Rory's friendship bracelet, finally.

And I mean… it's not your average friendship bracelet. It's high quality. I went all out.

I have this little bag of string, colors I didn't use for Rory…

"What are you doing?" I hear behind me, close.

He sitting up.

Hair everywhere, eyes sleepy.

Disheveled works for him.

I sit next to him.

"Give me your wrist."

Without thinking about it, he extends his right hand toward me

.

I balance it in my lap.

"What-"

I take a long piece of sturdy red friendship bracelet string and wind it around his wrist three times. I tie it with a secure little knot.

I don't know why.

It's silly.

I'm pure endorphins.

But this feels like the right thing to do.

He looks at it, lying there in my lap.

"Thank you," he smiles.

I kiss his smile.

It's my favorite.…


	26. Chapter 26

The house is dark, but we don't need lights.

Actually, after spending hours in warm, dim lighting, the idea of turning on an actual light is unappealing.

Jarring.

I light a couple of white emergency candles in the bathroom when we go in to take a shower, rather than turning on the lights.

Which is silly.

But I don't care.

If he cares, he doesn't say anything.

It feels… cozy.

Safe.

In this place we're in together.

This place we found.

We take a shower with just the emergency candles for light through the curtain. We're both exhausted and it isn't much of a shower, just kind of a rinse off with shampoo…

…and standing there together under the hot water, making out, lazily, sated… just… happy and tired.

The way you feel after swimming all afternoon as a kid in the summer.

His wet hair parts differently than normal and I see that long scar curve from his temple to the top of his head, the one normally, carefully, intentionally hidden.

I press my lips against it without thinking and taste wet hair and bitter shampoo.

He doesn't pull away or try to hide it. He lets me.

Then he laughs happily while I dramatically spit out shampoo.

We dry off but don't get dressed.

I originally had grand plans for dinner but instead I throw a frozen pizza in the oven.

We devour it at 3 AM in the living room and finish the wine.

And go to bed, clean and naked and full.

I wake up with his head on my chest, his hair tickling my nose and his fingers curled around my arm.

I never sleep on my back.

And he's never, to the best of my knowledge, slept like this, on his belly, on me. Covering me.

But here we are.

I'd like to stay here, like this, forever.

Fortunately, it being my birthday, I have the day off so there's no need for either of us to get up.

To leave.

So we don't.

He sleeps on me.

He's such a light sleeper, I don't mean to do it, but when I weave my fingers into his hair he wakes up.

He sighs. I feel him blinking, smoothing his fingertips across my stomach in calm little circles until I start to fall asleep again.

I ask him if he dreams with an accent.

He laughs and says no.

I ask him if he dreams in English, or in French, Icelandic…

And he tells me that he doesn't dream.

But I think he does. I think he just doesn't remember them, but I keep that to myself.

Around nine, I get up long enough to make us coffee, but I shuffle back to him, steaming mugs in hand, and burrow back into the sheets that are warm and smell like him and me.

When we really start to wake up, for keeps, we drink coffee and talk.

I get up again, briefly, and slice a green apple to take back to bed and share.

Mostly he talks, and I listen in a kind of happily dazed stupor.

He talks more in bed than he does anywhere else, lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling… he's comfortable.

He talks with his hands.

He's stretched out next to me, my sheets twisted around his hips, telling me about the time he ran for his life from a bull in a field as a kid, and it's such a good story, he tells it so well, and he laughs and…

I gently catch one of his talking-hands, winding my fingers into his.

He rolls his head, smiling, and looks at me.

"Hmm," he bites his lip, pulling our hands towards himself.

He kisses my fingers with soft, wide coffee-warm lips.

And it's easy. Immediate.

We can do this now.

With each other.

To each other.

My body feels sore, raw in a not unpleasant but less than subtle way, but he's careful with me, just as thorough and patient as he was last night, and by the time he's inside of me again, his body arched against my back, his hand curled and stable, strong, against the inside of my thigh, holding me open, keeping me where he wants, how he wants… I'm ready for him.

I'm mumbling, begging…

I don't even know what comes out of my mouth.

But I do know I make him laugh a couple of times against the back of my neck, whatever it is.

Each laugh is deep and real, and followed with a kiss against my vertebrae.

I cum with my hand on my clit.

He cums inside of me.

And that feels so right.

After, we lie there up until hunger finally wins out.

Really… when my stomach rumble loudly enough that he hears it and lifts his head, looking at me with a grin bordering on goofy amusement… that's when we get up.

We make a quick breakfast, scrambling every egg I have, and making more coffee, which we have at the kitchen table and share with Mickey who is finally allowed in.

We shower.

Together.

And I feel like this shower was meant for two people and I just never realized it before.

By the time I'm loading Christmas presents into the boot, I realize that I wasn't just comfortable to the point of inertia before… I'd actually been nervous to leave bed.

Because… maybe if we left that place… maybe this would change.

Or that some part of the charm would break.

Or dissolve.

Because that was-

He walks out of the front door with Mickey trotting and, as much as a dog can, beaming next to him.

He's dressed. Clean lines, good tailoring, and all those neat, orderly pieces of clothes so structured… putting my ratty sweater and jeans to shame.

This morning he'd actually been stunned into silence when I told him that I didn't, in fact, own an iron.

He smiles at me, opening the car door for Mickey, and it's the same smile as the one he had in bed, telling me the story about running like hell from a bull.

Not broken, then.

OoO

So normally on my birthday, I'd spend the day out alone…

Or, not alone… but with just Mickey.

I'm not an overly contemplative person.

I mean, I think a lot. But generally not in a kind of deep, life-pondering way. I'm not a long lonely walk with my thoughts kind of guy.

My birthday has often been the exception.

Over breakfast, David had asked what I wanted to do.

My gut reaction had been to say 'just be with you.'

Which is the truth.

Hoping that that sentiment went understood if unspoken, I told him about my annual long lonely thought-walk and at first, I think he thought I meant that I wanted to be alone.

Which I did not want.

I made that clear. Or I tried to.

And so we drive out here, together, to the preserve, with Mickey a furry ball of excitement in the back seat.

He brought his camera. Which, is great... because the preserve is beautiful. More beautiful in this kind of coastal, foggy cold weather...

But that's just my opinion. Some people really love sunny days.

I'm not one of those people.

The plan is to spend a few hours out here and then make our way over to Mum's.

Mum had gone out of her way to make sure all of them, Rory and Amy, Clara and David knew that they were very much invited to come to her place for Christmas. She'd printed up little invitations and brought them into the shop.

I had given David's to him the next day with his coffee.

I thought he'd have chuckled about it, but he didn't.

He smiled that funny little smile and folded it carefully before putting it in the pocket in his coat's lining.

I suspect she's already made them Tyler-Stockings.

Gaudy, intentionally hideous Bedazzled stockings that she adds new crap to every year…

I love the Nature Preserve. It's pretty isolated, overgrown and near enough to the coast that there's that faint salty smell in the air.

In this kind of winter weather, it's still and quiet… like a sound-stage forest in an old movie.

And, maybe my favorite thing, there's a big tree off the trail that is unnaturally perfect for climbing.

The sky is grey, diffusing the sunlight, making all the greens greener and the yellow grass softer. I let Mickey off his leash and wind the leather strap into a coil.

David's halted back behind me on the trail, looking comfortingly foreign in the setting, in a vest and slacks in the wilderness…

But that's him.

His attention caught on something, and with his camera in his hands… he's just…

I like so much that he's here.

That he came here, to this place that I always come alone.

And that he dressed so inappropriately for it.

I set down the leash and walk over to my tree.

I always really liked climbing. The problem for me was that after a certain point, there weren't that many things sturdy enough for me to climb on.

This tree is sturdy enough. By far.

It has been for years.

I reach up and grab a hold of my first branch, hoisting myself up with a grunt.

And I climb.

Up and up and up.

Until I find my spot.

I sit there, and I can see out, everywhere. I can see Mickey, stalking happily through the tall grass.

I can see Cardiff as a thin line behind me.

And I can see the ocean. Grey and endless and flat.

But I can't see David.

I can hear shoes on the gravel under me.

And a laugh.

I feel that in my chest. Like gravity.

I look down between my knees.

He's looking up at me, smiling broadly.

"You want to come up?"

He laughs, says flatly, "No."

"You sure? It's quite a view…"

"I'm sure," he pushes hair back from his face, "I've got a thing about heights."

"Didn't know that."

He shrugs, "Now you do."

A strong wind blows ocean-air through my tree and I look up, out.

Click.

I look down.

He lowers the camera.

And smiles.

White teeth.

Brown eyes.

And I don't want to be in this tree anymore.

I start my quick descent, sliding and swinging down until I'm holding on to the last branch, waiting to drop back to my feet.

He watches me the whole time.

I drop.

And try to adjust my clothes which have gotten shifted up, shirt twisted around my torso.

Click.

"Come here," he says.

And I do.

I kiss him under my tree, holding on to him with scratched palms.

I kiss him against my tree, the bark against his back, roots under our feet.

My long-lonely thought-walk isn't lonely at all.

And I'm really okay with that.

OoO

Christmas exploded in the house.

It's everywhere.

Dripping from every nook and cranny.

Some of it very English, Father-Christmas stuff… some of it uber-Americana… and even some non-Christmas, pagan stuff.

Nothing overtly Christian, though.

Commercial Christmas is fine, but she's not big on baby Jesus, my mum.

We owned one nativity, once.

She had insisted on putting a different "stand-in" in the center in lieu of the infant savior. It made her laugh.

My favorite was, and will always remain, R2-D2.

Our Lord and Savior.

Whistle-Beep-Boop.

David and I are staying in my room again while the rest of them sleep in the basement.

After being tackled by a wave of hugs, kisses and Happy Birthday's we put our bags down in my room, on the bed which is spread with one of Grannie Tyler's ridiculous Christmas quilts, then go back out to the car and bring in presents.

We stopped by his place on the way over, after staying at the preserve until we started to get hungry.

He wanted to swap out things in his bag and needed to get the presents he had ready.

I had told him he didn't have to get presents.

But of course he had.

He'd not made a big deal about it.

I think they're framed prints, based on size and shape and weight.

He'd wrapped them in plain red paper with white ribbon, crisp neat corners… military precision (making my messily, haphazardly wrapped gifts look as though a badger had at them in the dark before they found their way under Mum's tree by comparison).

All said and done, we start to settle into the living room where Rory, Amy, Clara and Tony are already entrenched under a collection of festive throws, drinking an assortment of hot, and randomly spiked, beverages.

Also?

There's pie.

Rather than cake.

Because I prefer pie.

I'm so happy right now.

It's my birthday.

I'm eating pie.

I just had sex twice in less than twenty four hours.

I climbed a tree.

David's here.

Everyone's here.

And… warm, freshly baked pie with overly generous dollops of really vanillay vanilla ice cream.

"This is glorious," I say stupidly, my eyes closed, shoveling the better part of a second slice into my mouth.

Click.

"Really?!" I look at David, who is, damn him, smirking and checking the camera. "Really?!"

Tony's on the floor next to Rory, and rolls over to look up at us.

"Because what the world needs are pictures of me stuffing my face,"

I set down my plate and lean towards him, reaching weakly for the camera.

He easily leans out of my reach and turns the camera off, setting it down on the table, "You were just really enjoying that…" he says so quietly that only I hear him, and with just the faintest hint of that edge…

He's making pie sexual.

He's making my birthday-pie sexual.

I'm not complaining, per se…

And… I really was enjoying that pie-

Tony laughs, "You mean more pictures of you stuffing your face?"

"There are others?" David asks him, looking past me to him, one curious eyebrow quirking.

"No, Tony…" I implore him, "Don't."

He's watching us with a kind of critical x-ray vision that reminds me suddenly, and somewhat alarmingly, of Amy. He smiles at him, "Lots."

"Ooh… Rosie," Amy, sitting on the couch who is looking positively pervy is also looking at David and I standing close together like she can see right through us, "You're blushing!"

Am I?

"So cute."

Mum shoves a plate of pie into David's hands, "Oh god, yes! We have a whole album of Rose eating," she laughs and pats my shoulder, "I swear she never stopped eating for longer than twenty minute stretches for the first eighteen years of her life!"

I sigh, and look at David who is smiling and licking a little bit of melted ice cream from his thumb.

Dammit.

OoO

There's no formal meal, as is my birthday tradition.

Instead, everything is out at once and people eat whatever they want, in whatever order they want.

When I was a kid, this was my preferred way of eating, but was highly impractical.

So my birthday was kind of the one day it happened.

It's great. Paradise. I go nuts.

I inhale everything, as is my way.

So by around nine I'm laid out on the couch drifting in and of a food coma.

I have reached the point of no return.

And that's when the presents, and all my loved ones, come to me.

David sits next to me on one side while Rory takes the other. I ease myself into a sitting position and open the gifts that Amy puts into my hands.

A new food and water dish for Mickey that Amy has painted herself, depicting Mickey chasing an attractive lady dog across a Van Gogh-esque starry sky.

A $10 Starbucks gift card from Tony, (who thinks he's so funny).

A tiny, delicate little stained-glass night-light in the shape of what actually takes me a second to recognize as an artistically rendered dick and balls from my mum.

At least she's making stained-glass again.

Rory, Amy and Clara jointly give me the Princess Bride on Blu-Ray, which immediately cracks me up.

Painfully… I might add, given just how full I am.

The card is addressed to, "…Our Darling Princess."

"What did you do with that dress, Rosie?" Amy asks.

"Oh, god… it's uh," I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, "on my closet floor!"

Clara hands me David's present last.

It's wrapped in plain blue paper. No ribbon.

He leans forward next to me, elbows on his thighs, watching me.

I tear open the paper.

A very beat up, very old book.

The front cover barely clinging to the battered spine.

I'd say this was a well-loved book.

Well, well loved.

"The Hobbit."

I look at him.

He's smiling behind his hands, "Open it."

I carefully open the cover.

"It's…" I stare at him, "Is this a first edition?"

"Yes."

"Jesus!" How much-

He laughs, "Before you ask, not that much."

Mum is peering over my shoulder, intrigued, readers perched on her nose.

"It's damaged, obviously," he clears his throat, "Very. It's not exactly what the collectors are looking for."

The book is barely clinging on to a structure that could be called book-like, that's true.

"I asked Jack if he knew anyone who had…" his knee touches mine, "Any Tolkien first editions… and this was the only one. He's uh… a very connected man."

"He is," I say quietly.

Inside the cover, in a child's handwriting in splotchy ink from what I presume is 1938, is scrawled "BOBBY."

I swallow and touch the signature with my thumb.

"T-thank you."

I want to cry.

But instead, I reach for him and kiss him.

I'm dimly aware of my family's collective little titter of loving-approval at this.

And I know he is too.

He pulls back slightly, and I kiss him again, quick.

He grins at me, "You like it?"

"It's... my favorite. I love…" I'm really overwhelmed, "I love Bilbo Baggins."

"Yeah, yeah…" he laughs, and I love every single person in this room… but at that moment, there's just him, and that quiet laugh, and the comforting weight of The Hobbit against my thighs, "He's no Gandalf, but he's all right."

OoO

Everyone changes into pajamas and then settles back into the living room to watch the Princess Bride.

Mum is really into it.

I leave the couch to get a glass of water, leaving a Rose-shaped space next to David under the blanket we're sharing.

And under which he's been lightly stroking my knee, which is poking through a hole in the sweatpants I'm wearing.

In other words, under which he's been driving me slowly mad.

I'm pouring water from the Brita when a pair of long thermal-covered arms wrap around me from behind, squeezing me tightly.

"Rory?"

"You deserve this, Rose," he says quietly, smiling against my back.

I knee the fridge closed and set down the glass on the counter and hug his arms, "Thank you for helping me."

He nods.

"You've got a really good heart," he lets me go.

"So do you," I face him.

He shrugs, "It gets the job done."

I laugh softly and pick up my glass.

"So… they're all dying to ask," He smirks, reaching past me into the fridge for a beer, "but they're behaving. It's killing Amy. You two…"

"What?" I look as innocent as I possibly can.

"You're going to make me say it?" he opens the bottle with Mum's church key.

"I think I am, yeah."

"You hit a home run then?"

I swallow my water.

"It's pretty fucking obvious," he smiles, and points at me, "Nobody this loved-up and happy hasn't just had amazing, finally, five-year-drought ending sex," he holds my upper arms, "…with someone they actually care about."

I laugh, and nod.

And he hugs me again.

OoO

When we finally go to bed, shooed out of the living room so that Mum can no doubt hang her hideous Tyler-Stockings, there is a photo album on the nestled on the pillows.

"No…"

He goes in ahead of me and looks at it.

Just at the cover.

"Damn you, Tony!" I close the door.

He looks over his shoulder at me, "Can I?"

I sigh dramatically and fall on the bed, face down, "If you must…"

I moan into a quilted snowman as I feel his weight settle on top of me, legs draped over mine, his mouth close to my ear, "I don't have to… if you don't want me to…"

Teeth close on my ear.

I gasp into the snowman.

He soothes the bite, as he always does, with a soft kiss.

"Go ahead and look," I mumble.

He chuckles and rolls slightly to my side, pulling the album closer with a crooked finger in the coiled spine.

I turn my head to watch his face.

He opens the cover and laughs, involuntarily.

"Oh, god, Rose!"

I sigh and look. It's going to be like that.

Yup.

"That would be five year old me. With a box of chocolate cupcakes intended to be shared with my kindergarten class."

His laughter is shaking the mattress beneath us.

"Needless to say, the cupcakes never made it to the classroom; Mum left me alone in the car with them for about ten minutes… which, was really a mistake on her part."

A completely blessed out five year old me, sitting there with a pink box full of empty cupcake wrappers and a face smeared in frosting.

"It's… you're…" he has his face in his hands, "so fucking cute."

There are pages and pages devoted to infant me eating various things, messily, and he flips through them slowly… thoroughly amused.

I wonder what it's like to see a baby picture of someone you're sleeping with.

Is that weird?

I don't know!

With David… I mean… he doesn't have any baby pictures for me to see, so…

Maybe I'll ask him sometime.

Maybe I'll ask him after he inevitably sees the Bathtime Album.

If it's ever going to be weird, that's the time.

"What!?"

"Oh…" I look over his shaking shoulder, "Yeah… I like pie. There was a pie eating contest. I placed second."

There are a few shots of me in the contest, a blur of pie and curly blonde hair, but the one that really tickles him is the one where I'm standing there, eight years old holding a 2nd place ribbon and completely covered in blueberry pie filling from hairline to waistband.

He turns the page.

There's me and Dad.

He's wearing Tony, who is a tiny baby and little more than a swath of light hair in a Bojrn on Dad's chest, and we're both eating turkey legs.

I'm dressed as a pirate. Dad's dressed as something halfway between a pirate and a Dad with a baby strapped to his chest.

"The Renn Faire. We used to go every year."

He chuckles quietly, looking at nine year old me tearing viciously into a greasy turkey leg bigger than my face at the meaty part, and then looks at my Dad.

"You…" he looks at me, "you look so much like him."

I nod and press my chin into his shoulder.

"Hmm."

He presses the side of his head against mine.

"He was dashing," I say finally, smoothing the plastic over Dad's face.

"Hmm."

I miss him.

I miss the sound of his voice.

"Mum says I sound like him, but I don't hear it."

I turn the page after a minute, because he won't.

I appreciate that he won't.

"I miss him."

He nods, and kisses my knuckles.

He looks through the rest of the album, which ends most recently with a truly unflattering picture of me looking sad, and red eyed, eating an entire watermelon alone with a spoon on the back patio.

"I… may have been a little high," I say, laughing and rubbing the small of his back while he laughs into his folded arms.

"The fact that this exists…" he sighs, voice sounding raw, "makes me happy."

"I'm glad," I say, pulling it from his hands and closing it.

It's about one in the morning now.

I yawn and flop down next to him. We're lying across the bed sideways with our legs hanging off but I could sleep right here, just like this.

Especially when he turns and curls into me, head on my chest over my heart.

"Hey, Rose."

"Uh-huh?"

"You're so beautiful. I wish you could see yourself like I do."

I laugh, and wrap my arms around him, "Thanks."

"Hmm."

We actually do end up falling asleep like that, feet hanging off the side of the mattress, on top of the blankets.

I wake up in the middle of the night, cold, and prod him awake, pulling him with me under the blankets where it's warm.

I turn my back to him, and he wraps himself around me, fitting into place.

"I like that you're awkward," he says softly to the back of my neck.

oOo

This is how Mum always wanted Christmas morning.

The house is loud, and happy, and full to bursting.

Coffee is spiked and hot.

And everyone, and I mean everyone, is cajoled into wearing one of her stupid Christmas hats from the trunk.

Everyone.

"Oh… come on."

He looks at me as if I have finally lost my mind.

I'm holding a Santa hat in my hands.

And it's meant to go onto David's head.

It needs to.

Something like amused horror, if that's a thing that can happen, flits across his face.

I myself am wearing the felt reindeer ears and antlers that are more or less a matched set to the ones that Tony is wearing.

"Look… it makes Mum happy. Really happy. And even Tony's stuck in one…"

I gesture over my shoulder to Tony who is sulking in a drooping Christmas tree hat, gold star dangling annoyingly in his face, "Also, it'll be real effing cute."

"Hmph," he sighs, "Fine."

I laugh, and with great care, put the hat on his head.

He scowls up at me, while I adjust it.

So disgruntled. So fucking cute.

I kiss him.

"Hey… Happy Christmas, David."

He smiles.

"Hey, cute boy," Amy says, and we actually both look at her… which is embarrassing, "Smile."

Also wearing a Santa hat (with little plastic devil horns in the white fuzzy trim) she's dressed ridiculously… but it's charming in its own way; a very tight, very little red dress, more cleavage than is respectable on a fine Christian holiday such as this one, and thigh-high striped stockings. She's holding a little point and click digital camera.

She takes our picture and trots off… bouncing back toward the dining room.

We're alone.

He slips his hands inside my thick sweater, wrapping them around my sides.

I kiss his forehead.

Waking up with him on a Christmas morning?

Whatever I did, in my life that was good enough that karma let me have this?

Let me find him?

Let him find me?

I'm glad I did whatever that was… I'm so glad.

There is a rush as Mom herds everyone back into the living room.

It's time for Tyler-Stockings and presents.

Clara gets Santa Duty, looking adorably accurate in her North Pole Workshop Elf hat with fake pointy ears poking out above her ears… she's giddy to get started.

But first there are stockings.

The Tyler-Stockings are just as hideous as I remember… sequins and fake jewels, beading, appliqués… they are monstrosities. Even the new ones. The ones with Rory, Amy, Clara and David written on them lovingly in puff paint… those less covered in bracken, are still ugly.

Ugly though they may be, they are also full of the British candy that was a staple in our house for so many years…

It's one of those many bitter sweet little moments that I have during the holidays.

Where Dad feels so present.

And so not.

But I love Jaffa cakes.

I really do.

I open mine immediately and start inhaling them with my coffee.

I offer David one, and he takes it, prying it carefully out of the plastic wrap.

Clara takes Santa Duty very seriously, and hands out each present with great pomp, reading the whole label out loud.

"To Jackie, from David!" she says, holding a flat square gift in her hands.

Mum sets down her coffee and reaches out, looking at David with soft eyes, "I get to go first? I never go first!"

David smiles and looks down at his folded hands.

Something squeezes around my heart.

God, David.

I touch his back lightly.

She tears open the paper and laughs, throwing her head back and putting a hand over her chest, "Oh, fuck! Ahaha! It's perfect!"

She sits up and slips on her readers, lifting the frame to see it better.

"What is it, Jackie?" Amy is perched in Rory's lap on the loveseat, where he's got his arms around her waist looking particularly loved-up himself. He's wearing the little top hat Mum can never convince anyone to wear.

He's kind of pulling it off.

Mum lifts the framed picture, a beautiful black and white shot of her from Thanksgiving, a glass of wine in one hand and a joint in the other.

She's laughing.

Both in the picture and now, here.

God he takes beautiful pictures.

"David, sweetheart!" she stands up and sets the frame down, carefully making her way to him, stepping over Tony. He looks up at her.

She kisses the top of his polyester-Santa-hat covered head.

He closes his eyes.

"Thank you so much," she says, quietly to him.

He nods, and says thickly, "You're welcome."

She cups his cheek for a moment before making her way back to her seat.

I want to hug him.

Tight.

And never let him go.

He leans back, into me, as she finds her seat.

And I don't hug him tight, but I do put my arms around him. I do feel his heart beating under my hand.

"Okay, next then! Clara distributes a pair of pajamas to Tony, from Mom, three scented candles from Mum to Rory, Amy and David (she has a friend at a hippie store downtown that colds candle making workshops… she made them each a candle with the scent that she felt exemplified them. Rory's smells like warm sugar, Amy's like cinnamon and chocolate and David's smells like anise… which is so perfect that it makes me question how closely my mother has smelled David).

There is one for Clara as well, but she insists on setting aside her gifts for the time being.

She very excitedly pulls out a big white box and reads, "To Rose from the Wingmen!"

David looks at me sideways and sits forward, opening up space for the box, "The Wingmen?"

"Oh. Ha. I'll uh... explain. Later," I slide off the ribbon and open the lid, lift away the tissue paper.

"A dress!"

"You didn't…" I look at the three of them, cuddled together, and stand up, unfolding the black silk dress.

"That's a pretty dress, sweetheart," Mum says impressed.

It is. Very nice. And I suspect tailored for me.

I'd gone with Rory one day, during his meltdown period, when he said he just needed to get out.

He took me to the place he gets his clothes tailored and sometimes, when he's feeling like it…

constructed.

I'd never been to a real tailor. He talked me into getting a fitting done.

Which was weird.

I actually toyed with the idea of buying some nice clothes.

As that polite little weird tailor was working around me, and I was standing on a block, I had these grand fantasies about what my life would be like in a really nice gown tailored just for me.

How sophisticated I'd be!

How well dressed!

I could see it all unfolding…

Until I asked how much such a life-changing gown would cost and quickly, and as politely as possibly, extricated myself from the situation.

But the three of them had gotten a dress made for me.

I want to cry into my new dress.

"You're a grown woman, Rose," Rory says, his cheek pressed to Amy's arm, "It's time."

"I'll take good care of it," I say, genuinely choked up, holding it up to my chest, in front of my torn, threadbare jeans.

"You'd better, Rosie!" Amy says, scratching Rory's jaw.

"They were very expensive, Rose," Clara says, toying with her braid, "I don't say that to guilt trip you, but just to try to encourage you to not, you know, get mustard on it or anything."

I fold the dress carefully, with reverence, and put them back in the tissue paper before going over and kissing each of them on the cheek, and saying thank you.

"It's just a dress," Rory says softly to me, smiling broadly.

"No it's not," I say back.

Clara distributes pajamas from Mum to Tony and me, and then I stand up, "Clara, I know you're Santa… but Santa gets gifts too."

She sits in my seat, next to David, looking up at me expectantly.

I give her mine first.

Because I can.

It's big.

She tears off the paper.

"Oh, Rose."

She holds the frame with one hand and covers her mouth with the other, looking up at me over the edge.

She's going to start crying.

"Clara?"

"You…"

I glance at David, who is watching her with a new kind of warmth I haven't really seen in him before.

"You painted me something?"

I nod, "Of course I did. I said I would!"

I've been working on it forever.

The brown… just wouldn't behave.

Wouldn't be right.

And, yes… I admit the brown in question is absolutely the brown of David's eyes.

My favorite color.

But… this painting was always for Clara.

Always.

She carefully peels away the rest of the paper, David helpling by balling it up, getting it out of her way.

"I thought you'd forgotten. It's beautiful," she says softly, "No one's ever painted for me before."

She looks at it for a few more moments before very carefully handing it to Rory and standing and launching herself at me.

I catch her, and hold her tightly.

"I'll hang it over my bed!"

I laugh, "That's the most I could ever ask for."

I give her Mum's scented candle (minty with a little bit of rosemary) and a $10 gift card to IHOP from Tony, which she more than graciously accepts.

But then she insists on resuming her duties and gives me back my seat.

She can't lift it, but there is a huge package behind the tree for Tony.

"To Tony, from Rose (and everybody)!" she says, poking her head around the branches.

He drags it out to the center of the room and tears into it.

"What?"

"I felt that you deserved this," I say, failing to hold back a laugh.

But he's genuinely happy.

And that's what matters.

"What is…" Mum gets up to look in the box.

It is chock-a-block full of porn.

"It's from all of us… we all chipped in."

DVD's.

Magazines.

Literature.

And a written promise to pay for whatever online subscription he would most like.

It had been an interesting couple of shopping trips.

Once I took David.

Once I took Amy and Rory.

We cleared out the two adult stores selection of Big Breast genre materials.

He lifts the box of condoms I left on the top of the stuff in the box and looks over his shoulder at me.

"Just in case," I smile.

He stands up, and hugs me.

And it's one of the few times in my life I can remember Tony really hugging me without someone ordering him to.

Amy crawls forward and starts digging through the box. Tony returns to his spot and does the same.

Clara hands Rory and Amy two framed prints from David, both of them in each different picture from Thanksgiving.

They're beautiful people, anyway, but in those pictures… it's like he catches something they don't realize is there.

Tony's gift cards are handed out. Rory, Amy and Clara give my mum a plush, smiling pillow in the shape of a uterus with fallopian tube arms which she then cuddles with for the rest of the morning.

Rory gets his friendship bracelet, and immediately puts it on, offering me his wrist so that I can tie it into place, saying "This is well-made, Ro. Fine craftsmanship!"

I painted for Amy as well, or… actually… I had our collaboration framed; the sheet from my palette upon which she and I had painted a naked man with an enormous dick.

Clara made coffee-cup sleeves for everyone, which are adorable.

She passes them out, unwrapped. Rory stands up and says that he left a few gifts in the car… and Mum says that she thinks we all need a break.

More coffee is poured, and candy is torn into.

I ask David to follow me.

He smirks and nods.

In my room, there are two presents that neither of us put under the tree.

One is square, wrapped neatly in that crisp red paper.

And the other is a squishy, uneven lump of paper and tape and a ribbon that fails to tie the whole thing together.

I hand him my lump.

He hands me the square.

"Go first," he says, sitting on the bed next to me.

I tear into it.

"Oh my god! Look at him! He's so regal!"

He has framed the most elegant picture of Mickey I've ever seen.

I'm there too… looking…

Well… I look good.

But I'm no Mickey.

"David!" I kiss him, "When was this?"

He kisses my jaw, "That day that you came with me to the park, when I was shooting that engagement set-"

"Oh. Oh! Really?" Yup… I'm wearing the shirt I wore that day, "I didn't even know you took this."

He laughs softly, "I'm glad you like it."

I kiss him, "I love it."

He digs a thumb into the lump of paper around my present and it falls apart quickly.

A thick woolly coil of dark red, brown, green and tan striped fourteen foot scarf falls out.

He holds it in his hands, "Did you… you made this?"

"I did!"

"You knit?" he's smiling, rubbing the scarf between his fingers.

"I do. Yeah. I… I ended up working on it during breaks at work… it was very soothing."

He presses his lips together, failing to suppress a growing smile, "You made this for me?"

"Yeah. I hope the color's all right. You don't wear a lot of red, but-"

"It's perfect. I… it's…"

He lifts it up, wrapping it loosely around his neck and shoulders.

"It's…"

I kiss him, holding his jaw, fingers warm between his skin and the scarf.

"Thank you," he says quietly, "Rose."

I wrap my fingers around his wrist, feeling the string I tied there last night, still there.

"Thank you."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Hey everyone. :) Thank you all so much, I've been crazy busy the last few days. I'm still trying to keep up with the chapters for you all. **

**As for the one guest question about Matt and Clara, there will be more of them. This story isn't done yet. I will likely make a Clara/Matt story once this one is complete. I don't want to start another story yet, until I've finished this one.**

**Thank you all so very much for the reviews and support. It means so much to me. I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter. I will be responding to reviews either in a A/N or privately. I've just been so busy, I haven't had a moment to do much but write and post before I'm off again. hehe**

**Enjoy! **

* * *

"Is everyone in?"

"Uhh…" David laughs, leaning back, "Tony's out a little-"

"Tony! Squish in!" Amy reaches for him and yanks him closer to her.

He's still wearing the tree hat and still looking positively forlorn, gazing with unabashed longing towards his box of new porn.

While David and I were still upstairs, where we, uh… stayed for a while… the rest of the gifts had been exchanged and more spiking of coffee had taken place.

Mum wanted group pictures.

David happily obliged her. First doing just the two of us kids, together, with her directing us from over David's shoulder… and then the four of us together… just Rory, Amy and Clara… just the four of us… then… everyone.

Together.

He's taken a handful of shots now, and based on how much squirming and laughing and shifting is happening… I can't imagine more than one is salvageable.

Clara's next to me, holding onto my shoulders. She pulls me down to her level.

"He's bloody gorgeous, Rose," she whispers in my ear.

"I know!" I say back.

"Uh… Clara," David looks up at her, "In a little bit."

Clara scoots in closer to Amy who is draped across Rory's lap down in front.

"Great."

"David, sweetheart, get in here."

Mum stands up.

He shrugs, "No… it's okay, don't worry about-"

"Nope! No. I am insisting. That thing has a timer," she grabs a stool and drags it over to where he's standing, "Set the time and hop in!"

He hesitates for just a second, but very quickly focuses on the camera and sets it up on the stool.

We have to reposition to get in, as the camera is significantly lower there than it was in his hands.

He sets the timer and walks over, getting in front of me and next to Mum.

The light blinks.

Counting down.

I look down and see that Mum has grabbed David's hand, holding it on her knee.

And I…

I can't stop smiling.

I reach for his shoulder.

And the flash goes off.

That one picture actually ended up being a keeper.

Against all the odds.

Of which, let's be honest here, there were a lot.

OoO

"Where's you champagne?!"

Amy careens towards us with two glasses of champagne in her hands.

"It's important!"

David takes his first, foam sloshing across his fingers, and then I take mine.

We're on Rory's roof, waiting for the countdown to begin.

Waiting for this year to end and the next one to start.

Mum offered to host, but Rory had insisted harder.

He had even cleaned his apartment.

Well, it had been a group effort.

And despite the cold, we'd spent most of the night up here, bundled up, waiting for the laptop streaming A New Years Rockin' Eve to let us know that the pre-recorded New Years Eve in Times Square was ready to play.

We strung extra Christmas lights around the roof (I had plenty to spare) and while it's cold…

The company is really good.

Mum and Tony are here, eating and drinking and talking excitedly with the others.

Mum has her arms around Rory's waist as they listen to Clara tell the engrossing story of the last New Year's she spent in London before moving to Cardiff.

We're standing apart from the rest, near the edge, looking out at the city.

A strong wind blows cold and he shivers, even with all those layers on.

"Christ!" he hands me his glass, "hold this."

I take it and he pulls a pair of gloves out of his pocket, slipping them on.

He takes his glass back, and I wrap my arms around him.

He chuckles and leans in, "How are you always so warm?"

"It's a natural gift. So that I can do things like this for other people who don't have such powerful internal furnaces."

"Hmm."

He's wearing the scarf I made for him, wrapped thick and warm around his neck.

Times Square alerts me to the fact that the countdown will begin in one minute.

Times Square.

New York.

Where I will be going in March.

It's still there.

Still…

"David?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Will you come to New York with me?"

I expect him to go tense.

I have tried to bring it up before, and that's what happened.

He went tense, and I shied away, but he doesn't do that this time. If anything he does the opposite, deflating a little against me.

But he doesn't let go of me.

And I don't let go of him.

We stand there together, holding glasses of champagne behind each other's backs.

"I mean…" I swallow, "You don't have to. I… I just thought… I mean… I'd like you to come. It'd… mean a lot to me. And, uh…"

He's silent, his forehead pressed against my chest.

I babble, "If not, I'll take Mum. She… uh… she always… she lived there, once, a long time ago… and… I mean… it's one room. So, that sounds less than appealing… staying in a room with my Mum… I, I think it's one bed. I mean, I could probably change that… I hope-"

He laughs, a rough, tired kind of laugh, "I want to go."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He nods against me.

A minute's gone by. They're all close together around the laptop.

"I uh…"

"Ten!"

"I think I need to."

"Nine!"

"For me…"

"Eight!"

"…and you."

"Seven!"

"You sure?"

"Six!"

"Very."

"Five!"

"David?"

"Four!"

"Rose."

"Three!"

"I-"

"Two!"

He kisses me, pulling me to him.

"ONE! Happy New Year!"

My last kiss of one year turns into my first kiss of the next.

"I do, too," he says, holding my face close to his, his hand strong at the nape of my neck. His eyes are closed tightly.

"Happy New Year, David."

"Happy New Year, Rose."

OoO

"Okay, so, who do we have today?"

Done with the last rush of customers, I shut off the espresso machine's steam and look over my shoulder.

"Well!"

Dana, who is way more excited than anyone has a right to be with an art history book in their hands this early in the morning, looks up at me, eyes bright under uneven red bangs.

Amy calls her My Number One Fan.

"I was reading about Frida Kahlo last night!" she opens the enormous book to a post-it marked page.

I wipe my hands on my apron and lean my elbows on the counter in front of her, looking at the glossy pages as she turns the book to me.

"I love Frida," I swoon for effect, "What do you think?"

She scratches her freckled nose and leans in.

"There's so much…" she looks up from Viva la Vida, her broad face close to mine, she smiles, "Pain. And beauty. And… it feels so..."

I smile and glance down at the pages, "She said that she painted what was real to her…" she's totally enrapt, "Hmm. A critic said her work was like a ribbon tied around a bomb. What do you think about that?"

"Oh…" she says reverently, turning the page to two more self-portraits, "I… that's beautiful. Her technique feels so… organic!"

I grin as Amy squeezes behind me, pressing a hand lightly against the small of my back, "Have you ever seen one of her paintings in person?"

She shakes her head, "No. Have you?!"

I nod, "Oh yeah! I've seen this one," I point to the wedding portrait, big fat Diego and delicate birdlike Frida, hand in hand, "The reds are so much redder than you think. They really kind of… surprise you. Every time."

Dana, My Number One Fan, sighs.

After the Champion of Cardiff article ran, there had been this gaggle of teenage boys (and a few girls, and a few boys old enough to be considered men) that was coming in… a lot.

I mean, sure. It was flattering. Absolutely.

The guys that came in… that was…

Flattering. Also.

But I'm taken.

Off the market.

Not that the market seemed to have cared about me one way or the other when I wasn't taken-

But, anyway, regardless… January came and went and they mostly went with it.

Probably found someone else, some other non-champion but possibly cuter painter. In some other shop.

Though my pride may be wounded, I soldier on.

Dana, however, is the last of the gaggle that still comes in every day, with her art history book under her arm. She is a fifteen year old, homeschooled art enthusiast (who admittedly hasn't got an artistic bone in her body).

Most days of the week, she comes in and orders a hot chocolate and sits here at her spot at the counter and when I'm not serving I'm here, with her, up to my neck in oh-so-familiar art history. Whichever artist she read about the night before.

Her enthusiasm is contagious though. Absolutely contagious.

"Really? Have you ever seen her Blue House? In Mexico?"

"No, I haven't. But—"

As if on cue, the front door opens and a cool burst of February blows in.

It's 10:00, then.

David's bundled up, scarf wrapped thickly around his throat, coat buttoned all the way up.

He looks tired.

And windblown.

But mostly tired.

Oh, David.

He's had this cough for a few days now.

And as of yesterday, he's been losing his voice.

But if one were to ask him about it, innocently, you know… Hey, David, sounding a little under the weather there, pal he'd rolls his eyes and reply that he doesn't have a cough at all, and that he's fine.

It's kind of weird actually.

I had this cold.

I, uh, very likely gave it to him.

I mean… I tried not to!

We spent a couple of nights apart.

But here we are anyway.

He coughed all night last night.

I woke up every time.

This morning, I woke up with my hand on the center of his chest and I felt that rattle.

As an asthmatic kid who constantly had "harmless" colds turning into bronchitis into, in the worst case scenarios, pneumonia… I feel like an expert on the subtle variances of sounds and origins of coughs… and the depth of this cough has me on alert.

He's ignoring it.

Today he's shooting a book signing at Nobles.

And he has a wedding booked out of town this weekend.

He's taken on his hobby full time now. I'm glad, I love his work.

I glance back at Dana, "But David has. Been there. To Frida's house."

"David your boyfriend," she says quietly, grinning broadly. Cheeky.

I smile and shrug, pushing away from the counter dramatically.

I turn towards David as he's slowly making his way to the register, "Hey, Sicky."

He grunts, and rasps, "I'm not sick."

I pour his coffee, "Did you drink that tea?"

I left him in bed when I left for work, but not before kissing his head and telling him that I'd left the bitter and unsettlingly savory Throat Coat tea that has been a feeling-poorly Tyler staple for as long as I can remember, with a lemon, and a little honey, on the kitchen counter.

He nods, "Yeah."

I wince. That sounds painful.

I put the lid on his coffee and pass it to him.

He is forbidden from paying now. After selling a second set of his prints, Jack had made a declaration on the matter.

Amy took it a step further and drew a little caricature of David and scotch-taped in onto the register with a scrawled note:

"Do Not Accept Money from This Man.

He drinks for free.

– The Management."

It looks like him and everything.

Sometimes, in the middle of the day, I catch myself staring at it and smiling like an idiot.

It's embarrassing.

"Hey…" he coughs and looks up at me, kind of drowsily, at the sound of my voice, "What time are you done today?"

"Mitchell's thing is supposed to go until three," I can barely hear him, and when his voice cracks, he grimaces.

"Three? I'll come pick you up."

"I'm fine," he says dismissively.

"It's a long walk home. And it's cold. And you're sick."

He makes a kind of quiet grunting, scoffing noise and coughs, then drinks his coffee, avoiding my eye line, "You don't have to, Rose."

"I want to."

He glances up at me.

And shrugs.

I smile, "And, I'll uh…" I say quietly, leaning with both hands on the counter in front of me, "We'll go to bed early tonight like exciting young people."

"Hmm," he reaches out just before turning to leave, and covers my hand with his, for just a second, stroking my thumb with his once before turning to go.

"Oh, hey."

He pauses and looks back, up at me.

"You've been to Frida Kahlo's house, right?"

He nods, and looks past me at Dana, and croaks, "Frida Kahlo today?"

She nods.

He sips his coffee, clears his throat and says softly, "Pies... para qué los quiero si tengo alas pa'volar..." in Spanish, which somehow comes out less croaky than his English.

"'Feet, what do I need them for if I have wings to fly?'" I translate, holding his gaze. I don't know Spanish… but I do know Frida.

He smiles, tightening that knot in my gut that's so intensely sensitive to him, before looking back to Dana and nodding agreeably and heading out, walking back out into February with his chin against his chest.

She blushes, from the neck of her red sweater up to her red hairline.

Dana might be My Number One Fan… but I think she's an even bigger fan of David.

Not that I blame her.

"How many languages does that man speak?" when the door shuts behind him, Amy shakes her head looking at me with that you-lucky-bitch-look.

I grin, like a lucky bitch, "Lots."

oOo

"Hey!"

I walk into Nobles' just as Rory and Adam Mitchell, author and apparent all around Renaissance man, are walking towards the door together, talking with their heads close together. I know of Adam through Rory and Amy… but I don't know him.

I mean… I feel like I know him after Amy shared a few lines from this newly published collection of poetry he was signing today.

She did this impromptu reading after Dana had left for the day, thank god.

Erotic doesn't begin to cover it.

"Hey," Rory smiles and tucks his hair behind his ears and I smile.

I have been told, by Amy, that one of Adam's new poems is about Rory and that one is about her.

She left it up to me to guess which is which it is after reading the whole book.

I…

I mean I'm reading it. How could I not? I've been challenged.

Rory's arm brushes Adam's, but he's looking at me, "You need to take him home," he says, jutting his chin towards a wracking cough from behind a few rows of books, "He's about five minutes from losing a lung."

Adam looks at me, "Oh… so this is our consumptive, broody photographer's woman?"

Rory laughs softly, "Yup."

"Ahh…" Adam smiles at me, and slides a hand across Rory's back.

"Consumptive?"

I hear David cough again and turn, getting it, and saying goodbye.

When I find him, he's crouched over his equipment bag.

I kneel with him and help fit everything in.

"Thanks," he sits back and doesn't look up at me.

He sounds worse since this morning.

Out of reflex I put my hand on his forehead, brushing aside the thick white hair that's fallen across his face as he's bent over the bag.

Fever.

"David."

He sighs.

"You're really hot."

"Flatterer," the words scrapes out of his throat.

He zips up the bag and I grab the strap, lifting it and slipping in across my own chest.

"You know who's really great company when you're sick? Mickey."

He looks at me completely unamused.

"He's like… a heavy, furry, unconditionally loving sickness-sponge."

"Uh-huh."

"He'll make you feel better. In exchange, all he asks is that he gets to lay on your legs, for… hours. And gaze at you lovingly."

I do not say, which is also more or less what I would like to do tonight.

He shoulders the shop door open, "You don't want…" he tries, and fails, to clear his throat, "you could just drop me off at my place."

"Is that…" I step in line next to him, "I… I don't mind."

He doesn't look at me.

"When you're sick, I mean," I squeeze my keys, digging a thumb between his strap and my chest… fuck, this bag is heavy!, "it's nice to have someone, you know… take care of you."

"I'm not…" he stops, and sneezes.

And, okay… it shouldn't be, but it's the cutest thing I've ever seen… cute even though he groans after and presses the heel of his hand against his chest which clearly hurts.

When did sneezes get cute?

"I'll make you food," I unlock and open the car door for him.

"Oh," he smirks, "Okay then."

"That's all it takes?" I open the back door and put his bag in on the seat while he gets in and closes the door.

By the time I get into the driver's seat, he's buckled in and almost asleep.

He shrugs with his eyes closed, and smiles, "You make good food, Rose."

OoO

"Yeah, well, he's on the couch."

"On your couch?"

I'm cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear, careful to keep my raw-chicken hands away from coming into contact with anything.

"Yes."

"And you're taking good care of him?"

Tony's smiling. I can hear it.

"Yes," I sigh, going to the sink to wash my hands.

"Jesus Christ," he laughs, "Have you told Mum?"

"That he's on my couch?"

"No, well, yeah. That he's sick."

I laugh, "Ha… no. I don't think he's ready for Nurse Jackie. I think he's barely ready for Nurse Rose."

I shake my head trying to dislodge the immediate mental image of myself in a nurse uniform and nearly lose the phone to the sink.

"Yikes, Big Sis!" Tony laughs, and I don't ask if he saw the same awful thing… mentally… but he gracefully moves on, "she'd make such a big deal out of it."

"Completely overwhelming," I dry my hands, "I didn't even tell her when I was sick. I had to communicate through text messaging only so she wouldn't hear it in my voice."

He laughs, "Okay, well… I'll let you get back to him then. Soup?"

"Chicken noodle."

"Of course."

I laugh, "I made the noodles."

"Stop it! Ugh! Okay, hey…" his tone changes, "I wanted to talk about something, but, I'll call back later."

I peek out into the living room.

David is bundled up on the couch in full on cold and/or flu-mode.

He looks completely miserable despite having Mickey, the euphoric sickness-sponge, curled protectively over his quilt-covered legs.

Still, he's falling asleep.

I smile.

"No, go ahead, Tony" I say into the phone, quietly.

He exhales, "I'm thinking about this study abroad program that-"

"Do it," I cut him off, "My biggest regret is that I didn't finish school and do it when I could have."

"Your biggest regret?"

"Biggest academic regret," I offer, watching the soup simmer, "Seriously though. Where?"

"Italy. A year in Florence."

"Do it, Tony."

"Yeah?" he's excited, really excited, "What about Mum?"

"What about her? She'll be onboard at 'Florence.'"

"You don't think she'll hate having her precious baby boy halfway around the world?"

"Precious, huh! She's still got me to fuss over locally," I smirk, me and the rest of them, her new children… Rory and Amy and Clara who I swear spend just as much time with my mother as I do. She'd fuss over David if I let her... in a heartbeat, but I have established some boundaries that have, so far, held up, "And I guarantee you she'll make a point of it to come to you."

He laughs, "You're totally right."

"I know. When would you leave?"

"Early July."

"Do it," I stir, "Don't even think about it. What about Tegan?"

"What about her?"

"Would you two…"

"Oh. Yeah. No, we're…she's dating someone else now."

"A him-someone or a her-someone?"

"A him," he says, sounding genuinely chipper, "He's okay, it's… okay."

I smile.

"Do it. Go to Italy and find yourself and fall in love with gorgeous Italians and all that Eat Pray Love, Tuscan Sky romantic bullshit that I didn't do when I was young."

"You're still young!" he laughs, "Young-ish. Hey. Go on. Take care of David, Nurse Rose."

"Oh, god, let's not make that a thing."

He laughs, uproariously.

oOo

He has a drawer, here, in my dresser, but he hardly keeps anything in it.

I've given him some sweats and a t-shirt.

And between that and Mickey and the quilts and the tea and soup and the Tylenol… he claims to be feeling better.

He sounds terrible while claiming that though.

I put on Fellowship of the Ring, the extended version, when he first got settled in there.

He's stretched out on the couch, rubbing Mickey's head and drowsily watching the beginning of The Two Towers.

Sitting in Dad's chair, I can hear him breathing… and I pick up on enough of a rattle that I'm on alert.

I was sick so much as a kid.

Every fall. Through the winter…

I hated it.

I hate it now too… but all of sudden I'm sitting here and hating it more now that it's him than a week ago when it was me lying there, where he is now.

"You want some Vicks?"

He glances over at me, away from Merry and Pippen, and asks flatly, "Do I want some what?"

"Vicks. It's a rub," I gesture towards my chest, "For your… breathing. And your cough. It's, like, mentholated."

He coughs, hard enough that Mickey lifts his head, and shrugs.

I grab the jar from the box of cold and flu stuff in the kitchen and come back to him.

I unscrew the lid and scoop out a glob.

He's staring at me, looking a little sweaty around the edges.

"Do you want to…" I ask, with this glob of Vicks on my fingers.

"It's a rub?"

The question makes me laugh… I don't know why… but it does, "Yes! You've never used this?"

He blinks up at me, "No."

"I was slathered in this from the age of three to fifteen," I say, "Here."

I sit on the edge of the couch, next to his hip, while Mickey licks my elbow, "On your chest."

He's settled against one of the pillows from my bed. His eyes close as my fingers make contact, hot skin under the loose-V of my v-neck t-shirt he's wearing, and start rubbing the, uh, rub on.

He breathes in, and his nose wrinkles.

I smile, "So much better, right?"

"Remains to be seen," he's still really hoarse, but he's smirking.

"Here, uh," I stop, and his eyes open. I offer the jar to him, "On your throat, too."

He looks at me for a second, and then closes his eyes again, tilting his head back. He swallows. I watch him swallow.

I touch a lot of this man on a regular basis now.

A fact which nearly constantly fills me with an embarrassing amount of giddiness. Pervy, endorphin-high, loved-up, idiotic smile on my face, holding doors open for stranger's giddiness.

But I do not touch David's throat.

I've thought a lot of thoughts about David's throat.

Why he doesn't- can't let me touch it.

I've never asked and he's never told me that story.

But there is a story.

I can kiss it. And I do.

Often.

Because I love the sound that he makes when I do.

I love all his sounds.

But… I mean… I have all these theories. The kinds of theories that have hard edges and crash around in your head when you're falling asleep or taking a shower…

Theories, very visual ones, about someone else, someone before me, hurting him-

And I don't ever want to do that.

I don't want to do something that reminds him of…

Hurt.

So I don't touch his throat. I avoid it, instinctively.

But I do kiss it.

Now. I kiss him now. His skin is too hot against my lips but he makes that noise against my ear… the one that I love, thicker and rougher because he's sick, and that makes me smile.

"Do you want me to?"

His eyes stay closed, "Maybe."

I smile, and kiss his throat again.

"Maybe?"

He nods.

And swallows again, "Yeah."

"Yeah, you want me to, or yeah maybe-"

"Rose..." he smiles, "Yeah."

I scoop a little more Vicks with my fingers and start, lightly, on the side of his neck below his ear… far enough over that it's more neck than throat.

Not the really sensitive, vulnerable part.

Not the scared part.

I make my way closer to center, hitting the first line of white ink.

And he moves fast, tilts his jaw down and away, turning away from me.

Fast. A reflex.

"Sorry," he says, jaw tight.

"Hey, no…" I say lightly, offering him the jar, "don't. It's fine. Here."

He scoops out a too-little glob and puts it on himself, his own fingers on his own throat.

I sit there with the jar in my hand.

Don't be sorry, David.

I watch him.

"This is unnervingly sensual to me," I say flatly, but honestly, as he rubs the last of the Vicks onto his neck. I realize I've still got Vicks on my fingers and rub the extra onto my own neck because a little extra Vicks never hurt anyone, right? "Is that weird?"

He laughs at that, and his jaw relaxes, "I'm not in the mood, Rose."

"Well, dammit," I smile at him and screw the lid back on.

He coughs and laughs at the same time.

OoO

He makes it to the end of the first half of The Two Towers. Or, at any rate, that's when I notice he's fallen asleep, the side of his face pressed against the pillow.

I take his crooked glasses off and wake him up, "Come on. Bed."

He nods, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. After a round of Tylenol, my fancy, very fast thermometer alerts me that his temperature is down and I make a much bigger deal out of that fact than he seems to care for.

Mickey hops down and jaunts towards bed, and David follows me, following Mickey.

After brushing his teeth, he crawls into bed and is asleep by the time I turn off the overhead light and check to make sure my alarm is set.

He's asleep, and too warm next to me, on his back.

And snoring softly.

David never snores.

I bite my lip, smiling, and watch him.

And listen to him.

I whisper, with absolutely no intention of waking him up, "Hey, David?"

Nothing.

Just softer snoring.

I sit there, next to him, and even though he can't hear me I'm nervous.

All the things I want to say to him.

All the things that are true, that I want him to know…

I want to say-

My heart's beating fast.

"Thanks for letting me take care of you, David."

He smiles, faintly, for a second.

"You're cute when you snore."

He grunts.

And I laugh.

And that wakes him up.

"Sorry," I smooth his hair back as he blinks, turning his face towards me and quickly, easily falling back asleep.

He mumbles against me, with the great certainty that people falling asleep sometimes have, "Don't ever be sorry, Rose."


	28. Chapter 28

_A man sits in front of me._

_In a chair. In a forest. Long blonde_

_legs,_

_folded under._

_Blonde hair, green leaves and red, gold upholstery._

_His eyes locked onto something behind me_

_behind him._

_There is a boy sitting in front of me,_

_where a man was,_

_In a chair_

_In a forest_

_A boy with a different name._

_a different home_

_a different heart_

_than the man who slipped into a memory, still warm as wax_

_on skin._

_I tore him apart, with my hands with my fingers with my tongue_

_In the places that he lets himself come apart._

_Then I molded him back, fitting things together again, with my hands with my fingers,_

_What's one more scar?_

_And whole again he tore_

_me apart-_

"What are you reading?"

David cracks one brown eye open.

"Smut."

He's on his back, awake, and he smiles.

And it's one of those smiles that jumps right past a smirk.

David's real smile is warm and full and unguarded, and happens in bed more often than anywhere else, and it's kind of absolutely my favorite thing.

"Er, poetic smut. It's classy. Is the light keeping you up?" I tent Adam's book across my chest.

He opens his other eye, stretching with a little grunt, arms over his head, "No."

He came home tonight, from the wedding, and by that, by home, I mean he had a cab drop him off here. At my flat.

After a second he reaches tentatively for the book and I let him.

He holds it close to his face, nose literally buried, squinting to read the text without his glasses which are still on the nightstand.

He had felt better after letting me take care of him for a couple of days (and more soup, more Vicks and, as per his very carefully phrased request, a lot of fruit – he was so polite about asking me, but I was actually delighted to head out early and hit the Farmer's Market with the express mission of buying as much fruit as I could for him – he ate all of it), but he was definitely still sick when he left early on Friday morning.

But he came home, inside, and I kissed him and said, "Hey."

His nose was cold against my cheek, but his mouth was warm.

Hot.

And before we ate dinner (store-bought ravioli) he got in the shower and I followed in after him.

I was a girl with a mission.

I was feeling pent-up and lonely after not being near him for days.

He looked so fucking perfect, standing there with his head bent forward, hands pressed into the curve of his lower back…

"Hey," he looked up at me.

He stood with the water hitting his shoulders and I knelt in front of him, welcomed him back, kissing his stomach, his hips, the places that make him tight and loose, sucking his cock and swallowing around him, swallowing him, with his hands braced on my head and the cold tiles.

And god, the echoing sound of his voice, still thick in his chest and his throat from being travel-tired and sick, and that faint, soft accent saying my name when he got close, thrusting and saying Rose, god yes, fuck yes, godfuckgodyes, his fingers at the back of my skull, pulling at my wet hair just hard enough to hurt a little, to make me moan, just before coming in my mouth, down my throat…

Oh, fuck. Perfect.

David.

I missed him.

"You taste so good," I kissed the inside of his thigh while he braced himself of the wall and panted over me, I love your come, David, "Sweet."

He smiled down at me. His eyelashes were wet and thick, and he blinked fast, blinking water from his eyes.

He's so nearsighted. To see anything without his glasses on he has to squint – the TV, the alarm clock, his iPhone when it rings in the middle of the night… always a wrong number from the 212 area code – and the squinting and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes drive me completely mental. Good mental.

Hot mental.

I have thus far stopped myself short of calling him Mr. Magoo. I… I'm fairly certain he would not appreciate that.

But I think it.

But close to each other like that, in the shower, it doesn't matter.

He sees me.

I pushed wet hair out of my face and asked if he jerked off at all while he was gone.

I asked because when he came, he came a lot.

"Not that I'm complaining."

He smirked, water dripping down his hair, down his neck, onto my face and kissed me, tongue deep in my mouth, tasting himself.

"No, I didn't," he growled, he has so much more self-control than me "Did you?"

I nodded. Because, oh yeah.

Before falling asleep, I'd roll over and smell his sweat on the pillow next to me and-

That's how bad I've got it. A whiff of a sweaty pillow and I'm rubbing myself like a lonely furtive teenager and thinking about skin, hands and sweat and dark hair and that smile.

I stood up in the shower, facing him. He looked up at me, close, held on to me under the water, and smiled.

And proceeded then to masterfully rub me off while telling me without any semblance of hesitation and with great specificity, what exactly he missed doing to me while he was away.

It was only a few days.

A few nights.

But he missed doing a lot.

And when he tells me, holding my head in one hand and stroking my clit with the other, his mouth and that low dangerous edge in his voice against my ear, that he missed spreading me open, my legs, missed tasting me, skin, sweat, need, cum, missed feeling me shake under him, stretching around him, before that moment when my body gives in, gives over to him and I moan, always his name-

I cum and hot water ran over his shoulder.

I ran my hand over him, down his wet chest, across his ribs.

"I missed your skin," I babbled, dazed and uncertain how I'm still standing.

He chuckled and coughed, breathing in steam. I had curled against the back of his body, arms around him.

Then dinner. And then shortly after, bed.

Too shortly.

But he was tired from being on the train. And being sick. And working a wedding that was, in his summation, pleasant by disorganized with a pasta buffet table and dry cake.

So while he slept, I sat up reading Adam's book.

Which I'm now only capable of thinking of as friend-fiction.

I've been mentally inserting Rory into every poem that's about a man… and Amy into every one about a woman…

"Huh," David says quietly, turning the page and then burying back in.

"Read it to me."

He looks over the edge of the cover at me.

"Read to you?"

I grin and fold my hands together behind my head, yes, please, because I missed your voice in my bed, "Yeah. If you would."

"Hmm…" he eyes my body for a second, rolling closer and kissing me just above the armpit, pausing there to breathe in deeply, "You want me to read this to you?"

"Yes," I sigh, my breath in his messy hair.

He reaches back behind him for his glasses, twisting around.

I see him pause for just a second, body going tense for a second, like a twinge.

He grabs his glasses and slips them on.

"You okay?"

"My back…" he rumbles, dismissively, "sitting on a train all day."

"Ahh." I offer him the use of my heating pad.

He cracks open the book, giving me a withering look, and starts reading.

_"A man sits in front of me._

_In a chair. In a forest. Long blonde_

_legs,_

_folded under._

_Blonde hair, green leaves and red, gold upholstery._

_His eyes locked onto something behind me_

_behind him._

_There is a boy sitting in front of me,_

_where a man was,_

_In a chair_

_In a forest_

_A boy with a different name._

_a different home_

_a different heart_

_than the man who slipped into a memory, still warm as wax_

_on skin._

_I tore him apart, with my hands with my fingers with my tongue_

_In the places that he lets himself come apart._

_Then I molded him back, fitting things together again, with my hands with my fingers,_

_What's one more scar?_

_And whole again he tore_

_me apart_

_hands, fingers, tongue, cock_

_and a broken piece of himself that_

_I didn't fit back into place, putting him back together in a dark bed he's never slept in before, that I'll never sleep in again-"_

Eyes cast down at the book, I watch his lips, I watch his chest, bare and rising and falling with each breath.

He looks up at me.

"I missed you David."

He blinks and smiles crookedly.

And I kiss him.

"Hey."

He pushes his head against mine, heavy and solid and then yawns, unable to hold it back.

"What do you want to do for your birthday?"

The yawn turns into a laugh, and then a groan, "Nothing."

"Nothing?!"

He closes the book, laying back against the pillow a little gingerly, and scratches his head, "I… yeah."

I flip through the pages fast a couple of times with my thumb, "Not even a dinner thing?"

He's watching me carefully, "I don't like to make a big deal out of it."

"Have you ever made a big deal out of it?"

I regret it immediately.

He looks away from me, a fast kind of flick of his eyes, to the corner of the room.

I feel that ache in my chest, that Oh, god, I wish there was a way I could take that back, ache.

Tyler's obviously make a big deal out of birthdays.

He's seen mine.

I told him all about Amy's birthday over ravioli. The surprise party and the karaoke and, oh my god, Clara and Matt. I know he hasn't talked to his brother much, but Matt's marriage to his wife fell apart quickly since Clara first met him. David told me that they had been doomed from the start, and they're divorce had nothing to do with Clara. Still, Clara's got a thing for him.

Rumor has it that he kissed her hand... and much to her displeasure, nothing else. Sounds downright chivalrous to me, but, Clara told me that it's been bloody long enough that she needs more kissed than just the back of her ruddy hand.

And while I didn't even remotely think David would want something like that (I couldn't even begin to visualize a David surprise-karaoke-taco-Tuesday-on-Sunday-birthday party) I mean… I figured we'd do something.

Birthdays... it's important.

My dad made a huge deal out of birthdays.

Always.

I don't mention that right now, but I think about it. I think about Dad's birthday and how we still celebrate it.

Always.

Because that's what you do.

I mumble, "Sorry, I-"

"No, I haven't."

He doesn't look at me. Still.

"Whatever you want, that's what we'll do."

He smirks, "Whatever I want?"

"Yeah!"

He coughs into his fist and closes his eyes, "Even if I want to do nothing?"

I shrug, "Yeah. I guess. But maybe nothing with… like… a cupcake?"

He reaches for me, finding my hand on the book without opening his eyes,

"Let me think about it, Rose."

I watch him fall asleep, with his fingers against my wrist where my pulse beats.

"Whatever you want, David."

**OoO**

"Is it weird if I admit that I'm jealous of your ability to wear so many kinds of hats?"

Rory laughs, "No. And, okay, wait… are we talking about metaphorical hats or-"

"No, I mean…hat. Hats on your head," we're killing time before the gallery opening and for whatever reason, he wanted to walk out to the end of the pier. It's freezing. I'm freezing even though I'm bundled up to within an inch of my life.

Also, my hair has reach critical mass. It's grown out to the point that I can't do anything with it. While this doesn't really matter day to day, it did matter, a lot, tonight as I was staring at myself in the bathroom mirror.

I'm Rory's date for this thing. He knows the artist. Amy had a thing. But, she's meeting up with us after for drinks, as is Clara (after her latest chaste-date with Matt).

Rory said that David was more than welcome to join us, but David told me he wasn't really interested.

He's annoyed by installation art, apparently.

He'll come out for drinks and get some work done in the meantime.

Rory warned me that we very likely will get our picture taken. It's that kind event. And the hair situation had only been solved by David handing me one of his beanies. It looks fine with what I'm wearing…

but…

Rory looks fucking dapper.

And he's wearing a newsie cap, a hat that I absolutely cannot wear.

Ever.

It would look ridiculous.

On Rory, it looks great. Of course it does.

"You can wear hats," he says to me as we pass under a light on the pier.

"I really can't. My head is too big. Tyler's have big heads."

He thinks about this, breath fogging in front of his face, "Tony does have a big head."

"Don't ever tell him," I laugh.

"I won't, I won't…" he looks at me, squinting, "You're right though, I mean… I hadn't ever really paid attention, but your head is… wow, yeah, very, very large-"

"Stop it," I nudge him with my shoulder as we walk and it sends him off to the left, "You'll make me even more self-conscious."

"Aww," he steps back in line next to me, "Here, try this on."

He takes off his hat, shaking out his hair before the wind does it for him.

"Ugh. No. It's… it'll look like a novelty hat."

He laughs again, "Oh come on, Ro."

I sigh, and stop walking, squaring my hips and bracing myself for it, "Okay, fine."

I take off David's beanie and stuff it in my coat pocket before taking his hat and putting it on.

It barely fits around my huge skull.

"Christ, Rose," he's pulling out his phone, and I just stand there while he takes a picture, with the flash on, because it's easier than arguing. He looks at the screen, "Aww. It's kind of cute."

I look. It's not an awful picture, but it is very much a picture of me, with longer hair, wearing a tiny hat.

"All right, all right… happy?"

He fiddles around with his phone for a second, his face lit up by the screen, and then he slips it back into his pocket and takes back his hat.

I put David's back on.

"I am, yeah."

We walk to the end of the pier. The waves hitting the supports below us send vibrations up through the old weathered wood. I lean against the railing, looking out at a black sky and black water.

"When I was a kid, I was terrified of walking to the end of these. I always thought that a whale would come and like, knock the supports out," I tell him, "…especially at night. I thought if I fell in, everything would be black. No one would ever find me."

He's quiet.

He doesn't answer, he doesn't say anything.

For a while.

And that's… weird.

He's close to me, but not leaning on the rail.

I look at his face.

"What's up?"

"I, uh, I…" he shrugs, and scrunches up his face, "I took a test."

"A… like a… math test?"

"No, like a…" he says conversationally, "a medical test."

"Oh."

"I got the results back today. And, uh, apparently I'm sterile."

I blink.

I blink again.

"Oh."

"Or, not sterile… but…" he laughs, and looks at me, grinning crookedly, "pretty damn close to it."

"Oh…" I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, so I look out at the black water and wait. Eventually, I say, articulately, "Are you… uh, we're you… why did you…"

He laughs again, shifting his weight and patting the middle of my back before leaning in next to me, staring forward, "No! Uh… sorry, yeah… came out of nowhere, right? I… a medication that I was on a while ago, for my," he pats his chest but I knew that he meant his heart before he did that, "They, uh… well, they thought that maybe this medication might have affected, uh… that."

Rory never talks about heart stuff, at all. I mean, he did once. Recently. At Amy's birthday. He told me.

It's not something that really bothers him. He's not… sick.

I hadn't really thought about him going to doctors for it. Because he's not sick.

But I guess with something like that, you stay not-sick by going to the doctor.

"Oh," I stand up and put a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't seem particularly upset, so… I don't really know what to do, so I pat him and say, "Rory, I'm sorry about your sperm."

He nods, chuckling, "Thank you."

"Did you tell Amy?"

"Not yet," he rubs his chin, "but I will. I always thought that someday I might… but Amy It's not like…"

He doesn't finish that sentence.

There's a lot to that sentence. I get that.

We're both quiet for a while.

I still have my hand on his shoulder because that seems like the right thing to do and he hasn't tried to shake me off or anything.

"Do you…" we're still both looking forward, "think about that?"

"Uh…" I shift, "Not too much normally. More in the last year. I think… Mum says it's my biological clock."

"Your mum is a wise-woman."

"She wants fifty grandchildren. She's told me that. Fifty."

He leans into me, and I move my hand around to his other shoulder, pulling him in, "Fifty is a lot between two kids."

"Yeah. Tell me about it," I kick the lowest rung on the railing lightly, "I… I don't know. I'd…"

I don't finish that sentence.

He puts his arm around my waist.

There's a lot to that sentence. He gets that.

In my pocket my phone vibrates and I pull it out.

FROM: David

BODY:

hat looks good.

"You texted that to him?" I ask flatly.

"How could I not?" he laughs, pushing me off.

OoO

"How was it?" Amy's curled under Rory's arm in the booth. We're making our way through a pitcher of a micro-brew while waiting for David and Clara.

I'm sitting across from them, "Uh… It was…" I look up, into the middle distance, thinking, "Rory, what would you say?"

"Uhh…" he takes a drink and sets down his glass, saying with certainty, "Vaginal."

"Yeah," I agree, "Yes. It was… very. Vaginal."

Amy's eyebrows shoot up, "Oh yeah?"

I nod, fast, "All of it."

"You should tell your mum," she says, "She'll love it."

"Oh god…" I put my elbows on the table, "You're totally right. She might buy something."

Both of them laugh. Because I'm totally right. I can already see a six-foot vagina propped against the wall next to the china-hutch.

"Hey, Rosie," Amy's petting Rory's stomach and he leans his head against her and I think that he looks really tired, unless it's just the lighting, "It's come to my attention that Valentine's Day is just a couple of days away…"

I take a drink, "Oh really? What brought that to your attention?"

"Couldn't possibly have been the decorations that Jack wanted us to put up, could it?" she rolls her eyes.

Harkness' is… festive.

Really festive.

"Couldn't possibly be, no."

"What are you going to do?" she bats her eyelashes, "You have a Valentine, Rosie."

"Ugh. Don't," I shake my head, "It's… I mean, yeah. Yes. I do. I… uh…"

And he walks in.

I see him before he sees me.

Other people see him too.

I mean… David, especially David at night, David dressed like that, David…

David looks good.

I'm not the only one who knows that.

But what's crazy to me is that… he's looking for me.

Not anybody else.

Just me.

He sees me and starts walking over.

"We're going to be low-key about it."

"Low-key, huh?" she winks at me, "So, that means what? Not pink fur-lined handcuffs?"

"Yeah," I sigh, "Exactly."

"Just regular handcuffs then?"

He slides in next to me.

Fuck, he smells good.

"Yeah," I say to her, "Uh-huh."

"Hey. How was it?" he asks, pouring himself a glass.

"Vaginal," Rory and I say together.

He laughs at that, "Of course it was."

We're halfway through a second pitcher when Clara walks in.

With Matt behind her.

"Hey," I tap the table, "look."

"Huh… it's about time," David whispers to me, we've talked about his brother and Clara together.

He's talked to Matt about Clara.

Matt likes her but he's nervous.

Failed marriage and all he wants to take it slow.

I get that, I understand taking things slow.

Poor Clara looks like she's going to burst. I thought David and I were bad for sexual tension.

They are worse, much worse.

Rory and Amy crane their necks to see. Amy pushes Rory out of the seat.

By the time Clara and Matt, who is smiling awkwardly and waving, are standing at the table, Rory and Amy are sitting on our side, Rory squished in against David leaving that whole side of the booth free for them to sit together.

Across from us.

"This is a funny arrangement," Clara says, tilting her head, "Have you been sitting like this all night?"

"For warmth," Rory smiles up at her before digging an arm free to reach up and shake Matt's hand.

They sit.

Clara says, pulling off her red coat, "I think it's quite warm in here."

Rory and Amy both shrug, innocently.

Clara is adorable.

This is the first time I've ever seen Date-Clara.

Her top is sparkly, and her eye makeup is smoky and she's just the cutest thing I've ever seen.

And I look at Matt, who is also adorable, and I don't understand how she could think he's not interested.

He's smitten.

Completely.

He's also just got the bad luck to have a terminal case of being a gentleman.

To a fault, apparently.

David's smirking at his brother.

I bite my lower lip after introductions are formally made and I stand up to get two more glasses and another pitcher.

When I come back, I slide back into my spot.

David's hand finds my knee under the table.

"Hey," I say quietly to him. I get an arched eyebrow in response.

"Where in the North?" Amy asks, and I realize she's talking to David, because David answers.

"Yorkshire. We lived there for a couple of years, before I moved to New York."

"Yeah," Matt nods, and smiles, "That's when it was the three of us together. Chris, David and me."

Matt said his fingers entwined with Clara's. I've never seen her so happy before.

"Yeah," David nods, and his fingers curl for just a second against the inside of my thigh. My breath hitches but I, astoundingly, don't make a noise.

"I didn't know you boys lived in Yorkshire," Clara her chin in her free hand; such a light-weight, her cheeks are already flushed, "Matt mostly has an London accent, I mean you all but Chris who sounds really Northern, " she looks at Matt, and smiles, she's totally smitten too, "distinct. But I don't hear The South in you at all David."

"It's there," David shrugs.

"Can you do it?" Clara asks, but Amy is quick to second the request.

I watch him.

He's… relaxed.

With his hand on the inside of my leg.

Which is making me…

The opposite of relaxed.

But, it's nice. Seeing him like this. Wedged in between Rory and me and not… worried.

"What do ye want me to say?"

I groan, but bite off the sound fast, coughing instead.

Oh, god.

He asks her this in a soft, drawling accent that… okay, I'll admit, that I'm programmed to respond to because I've definitely heard this voice before… but… you know, only ever…

Only ever right before he cums'.

Oh, god, David.

Across the table, Clara is delighted, "Ooh… it's so different from your accent," she looks at Matt, and then back a David, "Where?"

"We moved from Yorkshire to London when I was ten and Matt was six," which is more specific than anything I've ever heard about his childhood.

I haven't… asked.

I mean… I've wanted to know, but I didn't want to…

Why haven't I asked him?

"It's sexy, David," Amy says, grinning at him and then at me, "Rory speaks Polish."

He nods, "I do."

This, too, thrills Clara, who asks Rory to showcase this skill.

With attention diverted to him, I press my head against David's while he takes a drink, and I quietly say, a little jaggedly, "Christ."

And his hand, which is very, very warm against my leg, strokes up, slowly, stopping just shy of… me.

"What about you, Rose?" Clara asks me.

"Uh… I… uh…" I shrug, "My dad was part Scottish. I… can sort of do that."

"Go on, then," she smiles at me, and leans into Matt who looks momentarily surprised before boldly putting his arm around her shoulders.

"Uhh… okay…"

"Do you know any poems?" David asks me, smirking, and I laugh.

"Yeah. Uh… a sonnet."

"Oh, God, Rose," Amy leans on the table and stares at me, "Please do a sonnet."

So I do it. Giving the people what they want.

I recite Sonnet 127, from some deep memory-well, and lay on my already thick brogue.

Vaguely.

"Not bad," Clara says when I'm done.

The group's attention turns to where to go next, having had our fill of this bar, and while they're talking, David's hand moves just slightly further, and he turns toward my neck and sighs, "Christ, Rose."

And I smile.

Outside, in different lighting, I can see Rory's face more clearly. He's definitely tired, but he's also the first one to say that he wants to go to another place, that he's not ready to go home yet.

Amy's under his arm, holding onto his waist.

She glances at me, and gives me a little half smile.

I make a big deal out of crossing our little circle and hugging both of them, at the same time, while I announce that Old Woman Tyler is too tired to stay out.

"Those vagina's really took it out of me," I say, letting them go.

He holds on to me for just a second longer, laughing sincerely.

"Vaginas?" Clara blinks at me.

"I'll tell you all about them at the next bar, Clara," Rory says, clapping me on the arm and taking a step backwards.

I hug Matt and Clara, very quietly making her promise to tell me everything later... to which she just laughs, and sighs, "Oh, I will..."

David hugs Matt briefly, patting Clara's shoulder affectionately.

But I need to go home. I need to take David home with me.

Because I just hear his voice, in that accent, in my head and… I want him.

No.

I need him.

OoO

"God. You feel good. You…"

The force of his weight pushes me forward, my chest pressed against the mattress and I groan into my pillow, "You… oh, yeah- deep, David. Talk, David. Please. Talk."

"So fucking tight, fuck, Rose..." one of his hands leaves my hips, holding my shoulder, pulling me back, leveraging, his palm sliding for just a second and half an inch across my slick skin, I'm sweating so much, I think the heater is on and- "..wanted this, wanted you."

I only realize that I'm still wearing his beanie then, in that moment when he's behind me, inside of me, and he reaches instinctively for my hair to pull my head back, and gets a handful of hat instead.

Which makes both of us laugh hard enough that we stop.

And I don't think anything's ever felt as right as that moment, just after we both stop laughing where everything is really clear, and just… right – both of us naked, together, pushed forward on my arms and knees in my bed, with David deep inside, and still, his body curved over my back, one hand braced on the bed and the other against my stomach, feeling me breathe.

And he stays still.

He kisses my spine.

And then he's still again.

Still until I start.

Until I drive back against him.

Until I make him moan.

He braces himself and lets me generate the movement, pushing back into him until he eventually starts pushing back, into me, meeting me. Every time.

I groan, his name, shifting my weight forward, back.

"More," he says, again, again.

I make him cum like that.

And he's still again until he pulls out.

He turns me over and buries his face between my legs, while I lay there cuming and saying his name.

And I think, as I'm lying there after with his head against the inside of my thigh, that I want to say I love you again.

I think I want to say it.

But I don't.

And that moment slips by.

It just passes.

And nothing… happens.

But as I'm lying there in the dark, in my bed, with him… I can't fall asleep.

I don't know why.

I stay awake.

When he crawls up next to me, lying on his back, I stay awake.

I should have said it.

I still could.

I haven't said it since the first time.

But I don't.

I say, "Rory's sterile."

David looks up at me in the dark, with his hair soft and everywhere, messy from having my hands buried in it. He frowns and says, "Oh."

I tell him everything. I tell him about the medication and Rory's heart.

And... I tell him that I don't think I was supposed to tell him.

"I won't tell him," he says with his hand on my chest, "You're... worried."

I shrug, adjust my head on the pillow, "Yeah, I guess."

"About Rory?"

"Yeah," I am... but... I'm worried about something else too... and I'd tell him what it is if I knew. But I don't know.

He rolls over, holding my face between both of his hands and kissing me, firmly, enough to refocus my attention.

His mouth tastes like me, and-

"It'll be okay," he says, softly, and I almost feel like he's saying it to himself too.

I just... hear that.

I fall asleep eventually, I don't know when, but when I do, I dream about a six-foot vagina wearing a very small hat.

Then I dream about David.

And then I dream about a city I've never been to.

I dream about New York.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: HAPPY HALLOWEEN! Hope everyone is having a safe night, and I thought it would be a good night for another update. I'm slacking a bit. I've been thinking about writing NNWM starting tomorrow. But if I do I wont be able to update as often as I do now. I hope everyone is still enjoying the story, and it should be wrapping up soonish. I'm not completely sure yet.**

**As always, Enjoy!**

* * *

On the morning on February 14th, I wake up alone.

Which is strange.

I definitely hadn't gone to bed alone, between Mickey lying on my feet and David curled against my back.

So when I wake up and find both of them lying on the hardwood floor next to the bed, my mostly-asleep brain has a hard time processing this new arrangement.

"Hey..." I say, my chin on the edge of the mattress.

He opens his eyes and looked up at me.

"Happy birthday?"

To which he replies, like this is completely normal, "Rose, I… fractured two of my vertebrae."

I, naturally, freak completely the fuck out, fumbling my way out of bed, "What- now?!"

He laughs, softly.

"No… years ago. I…" he calmly scratches Mickey's head where it's resting on his stomach and says, "I've got a scar."

He says it with a little eyebrow quirk, like, Haven't you ever wondered about that?

But he has a lot of scars.

Because of the ones that curl about in patterns. It's under one of the lines. On his back. Covered by one of the thickest white scars on his body.

And because it's raised…

I mean… they all feel like scars.

He's lying on the floor because it's more comfortable to be flat and my mattress is too soft.

He's assures me that he's not incapacitated.

But the way that he moves when he finally does get up… he is in pain.

Once he's up, he shows me in the morning light, standing next to the window, and I see it.

I had never noticed.

Never.

It was under the large scar, so, even with my fingers…

It's right there, obvious. A precise surgical line that's definitely, distinctly, not as artistic as the rest of the lines on his body. Neat, but with that faint tree-root unevenness that all long straight scars have.

I've touched this spot a hundred of time.

It's the spot. In the curve of the small of his back.

When I touch him there, it's like… I feel him snap around that spot. Like an electric current.

"I touch… I mean, I have," I'm kneeling behind him, looking up at his back, "A lot. Does it hurt? I… if it does I-"

He looks over his shoulder at me and that shuts me up. I can hear him thinking… "It doesn't hurt. When you…" he blinks slowly, "It feels good."

"Yeah?"

I brush the line with my fingertip and he shudders.

"Yeah."

But the shudder passes and then he's walking stiffly towards the kitchen.

Mickey seems to get that something's not right. He won't leave David. He goes with him to the kitchen, and I follow both of them.

"You…" David stops, leaning against the wall and looking at the kitchen counter.

"I just did some shopping," I shrug, "not a big deal, or anything."

It's a lot of fruit.

David loves fruit.

I got it for him.

I got all the fruit he loves.

Mostly Bananas

He's standing there, er, leaning there, and there's something tight around his eyes even though he's smiling.

Pain. I think it's pain.

I make coffee, offer him the last Percocet from my wisdom tooth which he declines, and then start making breakfast, first cutting up fruit and he tucks into that sitting at my table.

Until he can't sit anymore.

When I turn around, he's back on the ground, again with Mickey protectively spooned up against him.

I turn off the burner and come over to him.

He has his eyes closed.

"Okay, so…" I sit down next to him, "what do we need to do here?"

"'We?'" he smiles, eyes closed.

"Yeah, afraid so."

I have the heater turned up high and the apartment is comfortable warm. He's not bothered putting on a shirt after showing me the scar, and I watch his chest rise and fall now as he breathes deeply, evenly.

"How did you break your back?"

"Fractured my vertebrae," he corrects me and opens his eyes.

I'm worried. I'm doing my best not to show it.

But my best isn't very good.

With a grunt, he parts his hair, at that scar, "When I got this. It happened then."

I swallow, "That was a hell of a fight."

"Hmm."

He doesn't remember what started it. It doesn't matter. They left him there. Someone else found him. Someone called 9-1-1. He lost consciousness. He doesn't really remember much about it.

Except waking up in the hospital.

And being strapped down.

"Strapped in place," he corrects himself. "Can I have my coffee?"

I blink at him a few times, trying not to visualize everything, and I stand up, "Yeah."

I come back with his mug and he's still on his back.

"You want a straw or something?"

He smiles.

"I'll sit up," but he doesn't, "I have…" he closes his eyes again, "Two plates and five screws. In my lower back."

"You do?"

"Yeah."

I sip his coffee because it's still in my hands, focus Rose, "Okay, so… you have a doctor? Like, a back guy?"

"I haven't been in years. I don't…" he shrugs, kind of, a shrug lying down.

And after a few more minutes of lying there, with me nervously drinking his coffee next to him, he tells me quietly that he thinks maybe he needs to find a doctor.

So I know he's really feeling like shit.

OoO

I think about calling Mum.

But for whatever reason, I call Jack instead.

He's surprised when I call him. Which seems fair. It's random. Out of nowhere.

Regardless, it's good I did. Jack happens to know the best orthopedic guy in Cardiff.

Well, he's actually just outside of Cardiff. He works David in that day.

Jack is magical.

I drive out to the clinic with a printed out Google Map in my lap and David lying across my backseat.

He's very quiet the whole way.

And we end up here, by late afternoon; sitting in this doctor's faintly lavender office, staring at a freshly done scan of David's augmented lower back.

The scan is strange. I can't stop staring at it.

His body looks so much smaller, on the screen, so narrow in this ghostly image of skin, bone, metal.

He doesn't seem that small to me.

I stare at the little screen until my vision blurs.

He's quiet.

He's also a little high.

The friendly staff gave him something for the pain, something ending in –odone, and a Valium. When the nurse, who had clearly seen all his paperwork, gave him the Valium, he said, "Happy Birthday, John," and David smiled at him, politely, before grimacing at me behind his back. I smiled, but it was jarring – John; I forget that legally, that's still his name.

When the doctor comes in and tells us that it's physical therapy now or surgery later, David just nods, and says, "Yeah. Okay."

Just like that.

I take all the paper work. I listen to all the information, the recommendations, the things he shouldn't be doing (a lot of which he's apparently already doing) to avoid straining it and making it worse.

He's unfocused, tired, drugged and he just agrees, says okay to everything.

He should have been getting it looked at on a regular, annual basis.

He wasn't doing that. I want to ask him why, but this isn't the time.

He's obliging the whole time we're in the office, but as soon as we're back in the car, he starts grumbling about physical therapy, and swearing quietly, staring out the window.

"Okay, yeah…" I say, pulling out of the parking lot, "but… you did get a very spiffy new back brace... thing."

"Uh-huh."

It's like a cloth, wrap, and structured thing. He doesn't have to wear it all the time. There's a schedule.

And he is wearing it now.

"Stylish."

"Right."

"Not girdle-like at all."

Which makes him laugh, just once, before leaning his chin on his hand, elbow on the door.

It starts to get dark after making a pit stop at the pharmacy and I ask him what he wants for dinner as I'm driving.

He shrugs, looking at the various items we've picked up, shaking pill bottles trying to read labels in passing bursts of street lamp lighting.

"Lowtown Deli it is then," I say.

I buy him a meatball sandwich and get the same for myself, and chips, and a chocolate muffin.

We eat outside under a heater, because while I just want to get him home, eating a meatball sandwich in the car sounds like a disastrously bad idea, and I haven't eaten anything since breakfast.

He starts talking.

He tells me about Harry at the hospital.

That's where they met.

David had been there long enough that he was up and walking. They were discharging him soon.

He went outside for fresh air.

And he found Harry.

They talked.

The staff had shaved part of his head, along the part of his skull they had fixed.

That's what they talked about, his hair.

He had nowhere to go after the hospital sent him away.

And the bills-

"He offered," he says, licking marinara from his hand, "Money was never an issue for him. His family had money. He had money. He offered. I accepted."

I watch him.

"And he offered me a place to stay. And I accepted."

It's a dry story, or anyway, he tells it dryly.

I swallow, setting down my sandwich, "Why was he at the hospital?"

"Visiting an aunt," he says, looking up at me, "She died."

I tear the chocolate muffin in half, and give him the bigger half.

He smiles.

I blink, trying to push down a lot of the things I'm feeling that I can't or don't want to name, "Happy Birthday, David."

He smiles crookedly, "All in all, not the worst I've had. Good drugs," he takes a bite of the muffin and tilts his head and adding softly, honestly, "good company."

I lean over, brushing muffin from the corner of his mouth.

"If this isn't so bad, you've had some really shit birthdays, David."

He shrugs, kissing my thumb, "I'm not going to disagree with you on that point."

OoO

He goes to physical therapy.

I drive him when I can, or he takes the bus. When I go, I don't go in… he doesn't want me to. His physical therapy remains a mystery to me. I bring Mickey with me and we hang out by the little man-made lake chasing ducks (okay, he chases ducks while I watch from a bench) until it's time to come back for David who has always changed out of whatever he wears for physical therapy and back into his regular clothes.

He hates it.

He hates that everyone else is old.

He hates what they make him do.

He's in good shape.

He's not weak. He's not sick or dying or old.

And he hates that sometimes he can't do what they want him to do.

He only tells me that once.

I ask him, during one quiet drive back, why he wasn't getting it looked at every year.

He didn't answer me for a long time.

"It was fine," he said finally, "And I didn't want to think about it anymore."

He didn't say anything else until we got back to his apartment.

OoO

I walk up to the big glass front doors where he waits for me.

Usually, he looks miserable after a session. But not today.

Nope.

David's smirking.

"Hey," I kiss his temple, and lean back, "what's the deal?"

He scratches Mickey's sides and stands up again (one thing I will say for the physical therapy, his posture is already better… like… noticeably) saying, "I'll tell you in the car."

And he does.

"Matty."

"Excuse me?"

He's smiling, looking ahead, "Matt." was my physical therapist today."

"Was he?"

He nods, "He went to the same college as I did, just the year before.

Where I got my Doctorate in many areas, he got his degree in physical therapy. He's better than the other guy."

"Huh…" I look at him, stopped at a light, "I thought he lived-"

"He very recently relocated," he says, barely holding back a smirk, "he now works, and lives, here. In Cardiff."

"Oh, why would he-" I stop myself, for Clara, "Oh well that's fucking cute!"

OoO

I ask Clara about Matt the next morning at work.

I'm leaning against the counter by Dana (today we're looking at Judy Chicago's Dinner Party… and I'm going to be honest, it's a little early for that many symbolic vulvas) and I ask her how things are going.

"Oh, well…" Clara shrugs, "I mean… I told you that we…" she looks at Dana, who is holding her face, elbows on the countertop, "That, we… finally… uh…" I watch Clara try to come up with a euphemism; it's a fascinating process, "That we haven't, ah, painted the dining room yet… but, we have, uh… put down a drop cloth."

"Uh-huh."

"To protect the carpet."

Wildly confusing.

"But, uh… you know," she smooth's her apron, fussily, "it's hard with the distance. Living in different cities. Especially because he doesn't feel comfortable sleeping over," she looks at Dana, who is barely not giggling, "On my couch. In my living room. While I'm in my bedroom. With the door locked. What are you looking at?"

She tries to change the subject, squeezing in front of me and looking at Dana's book.

"Oh. Well. Those are, clearly, just regular dinner plates."

"What is it that Matt does?" I ask.

"Oh, David never told you? Physical therapy," she answers, "Oh. I'm surprised David never went to him? I know you said he's been having a hard go of it."

Clara doesn't always get personal space.

"Clara, he physically therapized David."

"I don't…" she frowns up at me, looking slightly offended, "I don't know what you're saying."

"He… works at the clinic."

"He what?"

"He…" I look past her, seeing Rory walk in, heading to his table, "He lives here now. He worked with David. On David. He… told his brother that he just moved here."

She blushes, smiling, and pats the center of my chest, leaving a little powdered sugar from her hand on my apron, "Well! I mean… we'd talked, a bit about that, but he wasn't…"

"Should make sleeping arrangements easier," Dana says, innocently, "right?"

"Yes! Yes it should! Rory!"

Rory looks up, over his MacBook.

"What can I get started for you?"

She pushes away from me, bouncing over to him.

"Uh… just a… coffee."

"Any food? You look hungry? I'll make you something. My treat."

"Uhh…" he looks at me, "Okay. Like a… ham and cheese sandwich?"

"On a croissant!" Clara, beaming, gets to work on that.

While she's working, humming to herself, I go over to Rory and sit at his table.

I fill him in.

"Ahh…" he smiles behind folded hands, "Good boy, Matt."

"That's what I was thinking…" I look at him out of the corner of my eye. Rory looks tired. I know he's just started preliminary work on the next new semester outline, fairly unenthusiastically, but I suspect it's something else.

"How are you?"

He opens up a document, "Uh… little hungry."

I pat his thigh under the table, and stand up.

He hasn't talked to me about it again.

But since that night on the pier, he's been… quieter.

We've been hanging out more, just the two of us. We have a standing date on Tuesday nights where he comes over for pizza and beer. I keep thinking maybe he'll open up about it again. He doesn't. Hasn't.

Maybe he doesn't need to.

Maybe I'm just fussing.

I did get the fussing-gene from my mother's side.

"Wanna go see a really depressing documentary with me tonight?" I ask him.

"What about?"

"A murder, or something, I don't know. I hear it's good."

He laughs, "Sure. Yeah. David coming?"

"Maybe."

He grins, "How's he doing?"

I think about that before answering.

Physically, he's doing better. He doesn't take the pain medication they gave him… even sometimes when I think he probably should, and sleep is tough sometimes – I've woken up to him pacing the room in the dark wearing his brace a couple of times. He's frustrated, I know, and it hurts…

"He's… all right."

"Well, he's got you," he says.

"You've got me, too."

He nods, pulling his hair into an elastic at the back of his head.

"I'm a Tyler… it's in my genetic code to try to fix everyone else's problems. I need to."

"What time is this depressing thing happening tonight?"

"7:00."

"Drinks after?"

"Most definitely."

Clara brings him food.

David comes in at 10:00; Clara hugs him.

"Ooh! Sorry!" she says after colliding with him, "Did I hurt you?"

He shakes his head, "I'm fine."

"Oh, good," she holds on to him.

I put my hand over my heart and grin at him when he sees me.

He, awkwardly, pats her back until she lets him go.

Then she gives him his coffee.

She drew a heart on the sleeve.

I follow him out, standing in the cold of a quiet March morning, and when he kisses me, I feel him smile against my lips.

OoO

Mum has us over for a Good Luck / Bon Voyage party the night before we fly to New York.

It's silly.

It's not that far of a voyage.

Mum made salmon burgers and pie. Heaven.

As the first wave of dishes is being tackled by Clara and David, Mum grabs me by the arm, "Sweetheart, come with me."

So I do.

I follow her to her room.

To her closet.

She pulls the cord and pulls the light on.

And takes Dad's bomber jacket off of its hanger.

"Mum."

"I want you to have it," she smells it… even though after this long it doesn't smell like him… just leather.

"I…" I take it from her, "why?"

She shrugs, "You know… I was just thinking about it… and I just think it's time. It's such a nice jacket," she pets the worn fur lining, "someone should wear it. I'd look ridiculous in it."

I pull it on, feeling my chest tighten, "Like a suburban Amelia Earhart?"

"Exactly," she says quietly, zipping me in, like a little kid, "after spending a few years in The Bermuda Triangle."

"What are you talking about?" I put my hands in the pockets, "You look great."

"You're a sweet liar to say so," she adjusts the collar.

I want to cry.

But it feels good.

Something's in the pocket, something cold.

I pull it out.

A silver chain, with a little silver shield pendant.

"Oh my god," she says, opening her hand up.

I let it fall into her hand.

"That isn't," I breathe out, "what I think it is?"

She doesn't say anything, but nods, lips pressed together.

"I thought he'd lost it."

She shrugs. Again, not saying anything.

I remember it. He wore it every day. He said it kept him safe.

When he died… we thought it was gone.

I thought that one of the EMT's had taken it.

I freaked out. I needed to freak out over something that maybe I could fix. Mum calmed me down. Or tried to. Retroactively, I've always thought that she needed someone to calm down.

It was hers. Her family crest, no bigger than his, and now my, thumbnail.

She gave it to them when they got married. My parents never had wedding rings. But she gave him this.

It kept him safe.

"Rose," she says, her voice thick, "here."

She's unclasped it, coming towards my neck.

"Whoa, wait," I shake my head, but she doesn't stop, closing it around my throat, "It's yours."

"Nope. Hasn't been mine for a long time."

I lift it by the chain, letting it fall inside my shirt, against my chest.

"Mum?"

"Yeah?"

I feel a lot of things. My heart feels tight, fast.

All of it. Old things.

A few new ones. Some of them hurt.

But I do feel safer with it on.

I blurt out, from god knows where, "Mum, Rory has a problem."

She blinks, surprised, "Rory?"

He's downstairs, with everyone else.

"Can you…"

She nods, pulling me in before I start crying, "I'll talk to him. What kind of problem, sweetheart?"

I squeeze her, tight enough that she makes a little wheezing squeak, "He needs a mum."

OoO

Sitting in the living room, it's decided, unanimously, that we all need coffee. I start to stand up, but Mum is up faster, pushing me down, "No way. You're a professional and a competitor. You sit. Rory, sweetheart, give me a hand?"

He looks up at her, surprised, and stretches, leaving his spot between Amy and Clara and following Mum.

I'm on the loveseat next to David.

"So…" Matt, looking overly proper in Mum's living room with a large stuffed uterus next to him, says to David, "When you're on the plane, uh, make sure to get up, stretch out… like, what we've been… ya know."

David nods, adjusting himself on the loveseat, his arm on the back behind me, and say patiently, "I know Matty."

"You too, Rose," he looks at me, "You know… for circulation."

"How are you on planes, Rose?" Clara asks me, "I feel like you'd be… twitchy."

David laughs.

"I'm… ugh, not twitchy, I get motion sickness though." Any time I've flown on a plain I've gotten sick, puking my guts out. This time I've come prepared with some heavy duty anti-nausea meds.

"You're always twitchy, Rosie," Amy says, looking at David, "Motion sickness, good luck with that."

"Thanks."

"What are you two going to do in New York?" Mat asks, looking back and forth between both of us, "Other than the competition. There's got to be a lot for you to show, Rose eh David?"

David nods, his fingers finding the freshly cut nape of my neck and I can't help it, I close my eyes.

Feels so good.

"Yeah. There's a few places I want to take her."

We talk about touristy things that we might, but probably won't, do.

The competition is in the hotel where we're staying. It happens the third day we're there, all day. Apart from that, we haven't really made plans.

Which now, the night before leaving, seems like a mistake.

"What's taking them so long?" Amy asks, and eyebrow arched.

"I…" I get up, a little too quickly, "let me…"

I step into the kitchen, and then quickly back-step out.

Mum sees me, but Rory doesn't.

He's facing away, holding onto her, and I don't know if he's crying… I don't think he is, but he's holding onto her, his chin on her shoulder.

She's rubbing his back in circles, like I remember her doing for Tony when he'd come down from a tantrum.

She winks at me and I go back out.

Good.

That's good for him.

I feel the little shield under my shirt.

I press it against my chest with my fingertips.

It feels right.

"…it's just," I hear Rory, softly, "…it's just done. Like, here's this…" he clears his throat, "part of you that won't get better. It's done."

He laughs, thick, and pulls in a deep, loud breath.

"Sweetheart. I'm so sorry," she makes a mum clucking sound, "Have you… talked to Amy?"

"She knows. She's been great. I'm… I mean, we… I just…" he exhales unevenly, "I don't get to make that choice... Fuck, I even wanted kids, Jackie."

"Why would you? They're horrible. They suck the life out of you. Parasites. Leeches."

He laughs.

And then I hear him cry.

Just once.

I shouldn't be standing here, listening… but I'm, I mean, if anyone else came through I'd redirect them. I'm guarding the kitchen. For Rory.

"This fucking body," he says, sounding tired. Bitter.

"No body is perfect," she says, and when he groans at her pun, he apologizes softly, "sorry, had to be done."

"Rosie," I turn to see Amy walking towards me, "why are you just standing there?"

"I, uh…" I've got nothing, "I was uh…"

"Looking for a filter," Rory says, sounding congested, "we found one, Ro."

Amy side-eyes me walking past me into the kitchen, where Mum and Rory are both making excessive noise moving mugs and things around.

I follow her in.

His eyes are red.

"It's, uh…" he holds up the mug in his hand, a Michael Jackson memorial mug that Tony thoughtfully gave Mum for mother's day, "It just really hit me that he's gone," he says with a pathetic little half smile.

Amy hugs him tightly.

Mum takes the mug from his hand and busies herself with pouring the finished coffee. I start getting cream and sugar ready, making quick eye contact with Mum.

Rory wraps his arms around Amy.

"I know how much you like Thriller, Tiger," Amy says.

"So much."

I laugh.

And Mum scratches my back.

"He was very talented," Mum says, "A hot mess, but so very talented."


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: I'm sorry for the long wait. I had a very, very busy week. Between my husbands birthday, a long awaited family visit, and my own birthday yesterday. I haven't had much time to write or post, but now everything is slowly going back to normal, I'll be back to work on this story!**

**Thank you all for the reviews and the followers/favorites. I hope you're all still enjoying this story.**

**Things are about to become intense again...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

I pull off my t-shirt and drop it next to the hamper.

David looks at my chest, at the little Tyler shield, questioning.

"It was Dad's," I say.

He comes closer to me, looking at it. I tell him about it.

I tell him about Dad.

I feel the warmth of his body, his breath.

I tell him about that day. That night.

I don't cry. At all.

I just… talk.

Our flight is early, and I left Mickey at Mum's… she's watching him while I'm gone. The room feels very still.

"David?"

"Yeah?"

He pulls off his own shirt, folding it and setting it on top of his bag.

I watch him.

"I, um…"

I can't say it.

I want to.

What if we die in a plane crash and I never said it?

That's morbid, Rose.

His eyebrows shoot up, and he pulls me in, kissing me, "Yes?"

"How's your back?"

He pulls back, taking off his glasses, "Fine. I guess."

"Good," I nod, "That's… good."

He smiles, tucking a stray hair behind my ear.

I love his ears.

"David. I love pie."

He laughs, "I know you do."

"I love pie. A lot. More than…" I blink fast, "More than any other... dessert."

He nods, still grinning. A warm hand slides from my side to my back.

And his chest is pressed against me, warm and smooth.

He pats the side of my belly softly, "You eat a lot of pie, Rose."

"That's… the thing about me and pie. I'll never get sick of it."

He kisses me, holding my face in his hands.

"Never is a long time, Rose."

"I'm... not sure about a lot of things in this life, but," I kiss him, softly, "I've never been as certain about anything as I am about pie."…

OoO

I hate flying.

The first time I was on a plane, I was five and I puked all over the stewardess.

I thought I was going to die.

I'm not normally scared of heights, but I get really bad virago. I always get sick during a flight.

It became a regular occurrence since I was five.

My Doctor gave me pills so it's more bearable, but I was so nervous and excited I forgot them.

"Are you okay in there, Rose?" David calls out behind the flimsy metal door, he sounds worried.

I can't blame him, I've spent the last hour hovering over the toilet on the plane.

It takes a few minutes of dry heaving before I can properly answer him. "Yeah, I'm fine," my voice is raspy and my throat is raw.

"You don't sound okay. Please, let me in."

I don't want him to see me like this, it's bad enough when I was sick with the flu, but this… "Ugh."

I can hear the handle rattle behind me. This is not how I pictured our trip to New York to start.

"Rose…"

"Ma'am, you're going to need to open the door." The stewardess voice is muffled through the door. She sounds annoyed.

My stomach rolls again, I swallow hard trying not to dry heavy, reaching around I slide the lock and the door burst open.

David hand is on my back rubbing in small circles, and it feels so good.

"Could you get her some water, please?" I can hear the woman's annoyed sigh and the shuffling of her feet. "Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"Sorry," I rasp letting myself lean into him. Surprisingly, I already feel better just having him here.

He kisses the top of my head. "It's alright. Please, don't shut me out okay?"

I nod against his shoulder his arms wrap around me holding me close to him.

This feels so good, safe.

The stewardess comes back with my water and David helps me to my feet.

He takes the water from her mumbling thanks and she quickly disappears.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks tipping the water so I can take a few small sips.

"I'm not sick, not really. I have a thing about flying…"

"Hmm."

"I'm sorry…"

"Its fine, Rose. Are you feeling any better?"

I am feeling much better, just having him beside me like this. I nod and he smiles kissing my temple.

"Good. Do you think you can make it back to our seat?" I nod again, my throat is so raw but my stomach feels better.

David helps me to our seat, I can feel the people stare as we pass them.

Once we're in our seats, David wraps his arm around me holding me as close as he can in the big awkward seats. I lay my head on his chest, letting my body relax into him.

His hand rubs slowly up and down my arm. I listen to his heart beating loud and strong in my ear. Something about him relaxes me.

It's not long before I can feel sleep pulling at my consciousness.

OoO

I see it before he does.

Maybe… I don't know… maybe he wouldn't have if it wasn't for me. If I hadn't drawn attention to it.

If I hadn't just had this knee-jerk reaction.

But how could I not?

It's him. His face.

My favorite face.

"This is you."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I can feel time slowing down.

I watch him blink, slowly, with a kind of… god, I don't even know. Resignation. Something like defeat…

He turns, looking over his shoulder. I don't see his face when he sees it.

His face.

A photograph. Of him. When he was still a stranger to me. In black and white. Black hair. White scars.

And his eyes, christ, his eyes burn-

A flyer, printed on glossy cardstock.

His face under text.

Under Little Wolf.

A location. A gallery.

A date.

An artist.

An exhibition.

Little Wolf.

And we both just stand there at the counter of this painfully hip coffee shop a few blocks from the hotel.

We checked-in. We dropped off bags and changed and came here. For coffee.

There's a stack of these cards, next to the register.

He's still.

He's so still that if I didn't know better, if I didn't sleep next to him every night… if I didn't-

I might mistake it for calm.

But he is not calm.

The barista has his coffee and her voice snaps him out of stillness. And time speeds up.

Too fast. I can't catch up. I can't breathe.

He looks at her, takes the cup and picks up one of the cards with scarred fingers that match too perfectly the marked chin in that picture.

That picture of him.

"That's… you."

I say it again, quietly. To myself. To try to make sense out of… something.

He's holding it but not looking at it.

Little Wolf.

"David."

He looks at me, over his shoulder…

And his eyes are the eyes in the picture, on the card.

Eyes that I know… and that at the same time…

Eyes that burn and don't know me.

"Hey," I step closer to him, "What-"

"It's Harry. It's Harry's…" every line in his body is rigid, ready to run… or fight, but his voice is soft, quiet, controlled, "It's Harry's exhibition."

I shake my head, feel like I'm still coming up from really deep water too fast, too fast… and my joints are all… "I don't…"

The card is in his hand.

"It's me," his voice comes out low, thick… I can barely hear him over the whirr of a coffee grinder, the other voices in the shop, over the air between us.

There is stack of cards on the counter still, and I look past him at the top one… I know that it's him. I know… but…

The girl hands me my coffee. I pay.

She looks at him, and then back at me, and then at the next customer behind us.

"Little Wolf…" his teeth are clenched, "It's me."

Once we're outside he shakes his head and goes past me, walking quickly with his head down, he doesn't have to look where he's going… he knows.

He remembers.

It's like he never left.

And I realize that in one, awful moment.

He's ready to fight or run.

Run.

I follow him.

OoO

In the hotel room, he paces, pulling off his coat like it burns.

"I shouldn't have come," he breathes out, throwing the coat down and fisting both hands into his hair, "What the fuck was I thinking?"

"I'm sorry."

I don't think he hears me at first, he doesn't respond, doesn't stop moving… and even standing on the other side of the big room from him, I can feel heat and something else radiating off of him.

"It was my choice," he growls it out under his breath.

I pick up the card off the floor where he dropped it and smooth it out, running my thumb over the picture of his face twice.

Little Wolf.

An exhibition by Harry. S.

Pretentious son of a bitch… no last name, no-

It opened two days ago.

"Did you… you didn't know about this?"

I only notice that something's wrong… er, wronger after it's too late.

David's stopped moving.

I look up at him, all the blood in my body going ice cold.

His weight is shifted to one leg, one hip, shoulders back…

"You think I knew?"

He ran earlier…

This is all fight.

"No."

He cocks his head, eyes hard, hot.

"Really?" he swallows, and laughs… hard, "He recorded everything. From day fucking one. That's… everything. I didn't think-"

"I don't-" I shake my head, dumbly, "How… legally… how can he-"

"I was his project," he scratches fingers hard against his scalp, "That's why he was willing to… all my medical bills, the surgery… my back… he… what was I going to do? I signed what he wanted. Why wouldn't I? This kid with no money… with a cracked skull and a broken back and nothing-"

I can't.

I can't.

That hurts. In my chest. That tears something.

You had me, you just didn't have me yet and I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry-

He moves again, but this time it's slow… stalking, eyes never leaving my face but hardly looking at me.

"The fucked up thing is that he kept me alive," he laughs, "he gave me a place to live, to sleep… and all he asked in exchange was me. Someone wanted…"

He goes still.

Lost.

Not looking at anything.

He picks up the bottle of wine that was here when we arrived. Courtesy of Jack. I watch him open it. Ritual. Something familiar. Something that his hands know how to do.

"There were times that… just, knowing that someone wanted me enough to pay for me… it meant enough to keep going, to keep fucking, to keep…" he opens the bottle without any apparent conscious effort, "Little Wolf."

He drinks from the bottle, deep and long.

I stare at the card, Little Wolf, bent in my hand.

I don't understand. I… there's so much.

Too much.

And I don't know-

I'm shaking.

"How did you not know?"

I look up at him.

I hear myself.

My parents never fought.

Except once. That I know of.

They fought in the kitchen, at the old flat, and I heard them, heard.

Dad's voice.

It was the only time he ever sounded like that. This.

The way I sound now.

"I haven't spent a lot of time obsessing over what he does, Rose."

"It's an exhibition of you, David," I drop it onto the bed, between us, "You didn't…" I shrug, and I'm mad, at him, but not at him, "how?"

He scoffs, rubbing a thumb against his bottom lip, the scars on his chin, looking away from me at the wall, and then back, "You think-"

"Was he the one calling you?"

It hangs there.

And he doesn't answer, just shifts his weight.

"Late at night? 212? Was it him?"

"No."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I think you're lying."

"Fuck you."

Oh.

We're doing this.

Something clicks, hard, metallic.

"There's…" my eyes are hot and I can't keep them open but I don't want to look away because then I'm weak and I don't want to be weak now, "there's a lot of shit you don't tell me, David, until you have to. Until there's no getting around it. A lot of fucking shit."

"You don't need to know."

"Really?" my voice cracks, "Really? I don't need to know-"

"It's my fucking past, Rose, it's over-"

"It is. Yeah. You're right. Clearly fucking finished business," I snatch the card up again, wadding it in my hand.

He stares at it, in my hand, breathing fast, and shallow.

I am too.

"I didn't know."

I don't want to fight with him. He's the last person in the world I want to fight with.

I hate this feeling.

I hate everything.

I hate adrenaline.

I hate that my stomach starts turning again.

I hate that a part of me wants to walk out.

I hate that part of me wants to slam him into a wall.

The part of me that wants him to fuck me, because that makes sense, that's what we do.

We don't do this.

I hate the part of me that wants to fuck him.

Because we don't do that either.

Because of this. This. Harrys. Little Wolf.

Maybe. Maybe that's why we don't.

I don't know for sure.

I don't know.

I hate that I don't know.

I hate that I can't fix this, easy, and that I know we're past the point of saying I'm sorry.

I hate that something broke between this morning and now, between the airport and here.

I hate the cracked edge in his voice that asks with finality, "You want to?"

And I hate that before I answer and say, "No," that I do want to, that I want to say yeah, I want to.

And I hate that he sees the lie in No.

He shrugs, "Then go."

"Wh-"

"I…" he staggers back, his back curved, "you'll never get another chance like this, right? It's all there. Everything," he looks at me, jaw set hard, "all my precious fucking shit that I won't tell you about."

I can't talk.

I can't move.

I can't do anything until he says, "I want you to."

"To go?"

"Go see everything, see what I was, see…" he drinks, swallows and sets down the bottle on the round table, "I can't tell you all of it, Rose. I won't," he folds his arms, "I won't tell you. That's true. That's the truth. I don't lie, but there are things I won't fucking say anymore. I won't look back, just-" he sighs, "But you need to know, right? That's what you need?"

I bite the inside of my cheek.

"Yeah," he sighs, "Yeah, you do. So… go."

I run my hand through my hair, "What are you… are you going? Go… with me?"

He stares at me, "No."

I nod, feeling my hands go cold, "Will you be here when I come back?"

"I don't know… you may not want to come back."

And that's when I see it.

I see past the anger.

That's what this is to him.

If.

If I come back.

Because what I see might be enough that I won't-

"David…"

His eyes are hot, wide, and white around brown and he moves different. Jerking. His hands don't shake, they're steady, but I think it's only because he's gripping his arms so tightly.

"How long will it take me to get there?"

He shrugs, "From here? Uh…" his voice cracks, "ask at the fucking desk, Rose. They'll tell you."

The heat's gone out of the fight, and now there's just him and me and the stale air between us.

I nod, grabbing my coat, checking my pockets neurotically to make sure I have my key card, my phone, my wallet…

I put on my coat. My Dad's coat.

He doesn't move.

He stands there in front of the window.

I'm by the door.

But I stop.

I reach up, unlatch the clasp on the chain around my neck, and take it off.

I cross the room closing the chain, leaving it, the little silver shield that was Mom's and then Dad's and then waited in the inside of a coat pocket for almost ten years to be mine, on the table behind him with a soft little thud.

I'm coming back.

I want to say it to his back, to his stiff curved back.

But I don't say anything.

I'm choking on it.

I pick up the card and I leave. I leave him there.

I get directions, and I leave the hotel.

I'm coming back.

I just pray he'll be here when I do.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Wow, just because of the overwhelming response and reviews, I'm posting another chapter tonight. **

**Thank you for the Birthday wishes, I had a great day yesterday. **

**The chapter is short, but... ah, you'll see. Reviews on this one would be greatly appreciated.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

It is not, as the cards might have suggested, a large gallery.

It's small. Nondescript. And there aren't more than five people inside when I get there.

I want to run.

It didn't take very long to get here.

I've been in the neighborhood for hours now. I found a coffee shop across the street and sat inside with a cup of black coffee, and then another, and then another.

My hands are shaking when I do finally cross the street, waiting at the light, and I bury them in my coat pockets.

It's getting dark now, and the lights inside the gallery are warm.

Inviting. But not.

I don't want to go in.

This is how I felt.

I felt the same way.

Dad was in a box in a room and we were supposed to go in and say goodbye.

And the room looked nice. It didn't look like a room with a dead body in it. It just looked like a living room in some old person's house.

But it wasn't that.

Mum coerced Tony to go in. For closure. So he'd really believe he was gone. Everything happened so fast... it was a nightmare and we'd all wake up and Dad would be in the living room in his chair smiling and...

She couldn't coerce me.

I didn't go in.

I couldn't.

I open the glass door and a girl with asymmetrical hair looks up at me and smiles and hands me a piece of paper that I don't want to hold.

It's free to go in.

Which kind of surprises me.

It's a well laid out exhibition. There's money in this. The lighting, the mounting… and the video.

There's video. Fuck.

I hear him before I see him.

David's voice, softly, from a speaker on a small mounted HD-TV. One of several.

It's all David.

I can't do it.

I turn, to leave, to just walk out of here because it looks like a regular room but it isn't.

But the first picture stops me. Completely.

It's small. Very small. Not a good photograph. Not one that Harry. S took with an expensive camera.

It's small, and grainy, black and white. Like newsprint.

A school photo, from a year book.

One tiny photo framed in a mat that is too big, in a frame that is too big.

One tiny relic of a childhood that no one talks about.

I make a choking noise, somewhere in the vicinity of a sob and a gasp, and the one other person

meandering through the room looks at me but I don't give a shit.

He's small. Wiry. Dark hair and light skin, dark eyes. It's nearly impossible to tell what he's wearing, the picture is so small, but whatever it is it's too big for him; skinny neck, narrow shoulders, dark smart eyes. John, Fourth Grade.

I'm in. I can't, but I have to.

I walk where the room guides me. To a video. The first.

The audio is low, carefully low, so that you only really hear what he's saying standing directly in front of it. It loops. David, with his head shaved and a scar that isn't completely a scar yet running from his temple up to the crown of his head. David against a white background, well-lit, in a wife-beater,

handsome and dangerous and not scared all over his body.

"What do I like?" he looks directly into the camera, he answers a question I don't hear in an accent that's thicker than what I've heard before, the accent of someone who hasn't lived in London, and Iceland, in Mexico, "I like… oxygen," his eyes are dark, "I like boys. I like girls. I like waking up in the morning, before you. I like… waking up."

He smiles, full lips and white teeth…

Only one of his front teeth is chipped, a sharp clean diagonal line.

"I like waking up."

It loops.

I walk. Framed prints, black and white, no color. All David.

He's beautiful.

I can't breathe.

He's naked and un-marked, the full stretch of his body, younger and somehow softer than it is now, in profile… just scars.

Some fresh and welted, while others notably faded.

And his hair has grown out, from that video.

His hair grows longer in each picture, each clip, around the room… the passing of time.

And the scars start getting more predominant. Spreading like roots across his body, gradually, wrapped in clear plastic to heal.

Framed. Photographed. The first ones across his shoulders, then down, down his chest, down his back, arms, legs.

Finally his throat.

A short clip, the only one in color, his head bent back, throat… throat that I can't touch, exposed, stretched open, and the blade of a razor sliding along breaking skin, the swipe of a rubber gloved hand wiping away blood that trickled down his neck.

The look of the blood makes me dizzy.

But it's the groan of pain, or maybe not pain that he makes in the video that makes my knees buckle for a second. His eyes are closed tight, hands gripping the leather of the chair he's in. Gripping.

The video loops.

I swallow hard, I'm going to be sick again.

I can't even look at these pictures. The ones of him with his hands behind his back, tied, the ones of him with Harry, I know it's Harry even though I've never seen his face and his face isn't in the pictures, just his body, tall and thin.

David with a woman, between her legs—

David being hurt. Leaning into pain, not away from it.

I can't understand. Why?

I want to ask.

Why?

I hear David's voice, sounding more like him, in the next video, and I go to it… drawn to it.

"What don't I like?" he blinks. Looking into the camera. Thinking. Just as well lit. Still wearing a wife beater… only now, in this video, the scars that I could draw like a map are there… bright and fresh across his shoulders, his chest, his neck, his chin, "I don't like… pears. I don't like heights. I don't like…" he shrugs.

Blinks.

"I don't like people touching..." he touches the base of his throat with scarred fingers, swallows, looks away.

"Why?" Harry's voice, behind the lens.

David's dark eyebrows come together; he doesn't want to answer.

"Because… I need to breathe."

The next photo, more scars in place. The smaller ones. The detail work.

Patterns of dots in the curls of ending lines.

A set, taken on the same day, in the same room, in the same light.

The last one, David's head back, and ribbon, thick and soft and black looped around his neck, so many times, and held tight but not tight around his scared throat by pale white 's hands.

And I want to break them.

I can't.

I can't.

He's mine-

No… no he's not mine. He's not anyone's. He's…

But I can't.

The end of the prints, a last video. All the scars are there.

His eyes are tired, and he's beautiful… so fucking beautiful.

But he's hollow. Maybe drugs. Maybe not.

This… fuck.

This isn't art.

This is an indulgent expensive showcase for the years it took for this man to take something that was beautiful, and break it down, apart, open.

David. He's scarred. And tired. There's a thin black hoop in one ear. Black studs. Brown hair. Dark, smart eyes with unnaturally wide, open black centers.

He blinks. Tired.

And says nothing.

He doesn't answer any questions.

He just looks.

And I feel like… he sees me.

But he obviously doesn't.

Obviously.

The last print is huge. The last one on the way out. At least five-foot by five-feet. On the facing wall to the tiny school picture, directly across from it. David, shirtless, dark eyes and dark hair, looking over his shoulder.

His scarred shoulder.

"Is the artist here?"

I'm standing, frozen in front of the picture and turn when some woman asks the girl at the front.

"No, he isn't."

I would break his face.

Not that… I've ever even slapped someone.

But I would.

Right now, if the artist were here.

I would break his face. And his hands.

Because sometimes that's what you need to do, right?

"He's very exotic looking…"

I make a noise, frustrated and trapped and… my eyes sting, and these two women look at me.

I look back at David, at five-by-five David.

Between he and I, in the center of the room, there's a plaster cast. Of a chest. I'd walked right by it before.

And it seems too small to be his.

But I know it must be.

Cut down the back to be removed from his body and then tied back together, painted black. A plaster cast that looks like armor, left behind by some soldier. Or a warrior. Or something.

Left on the ground, in the middle of the room, next to a wolf's pelt.

I think about Frida Kahlo.

That's the only place my brain allows me to go at that moment, staring at the cast in the room.

She'd been in a bus accident. She broke her spine, and a lot of other things. She was in and out of plaster casts for the rest of her life, confined to a bed with just paint and canvas… and the casts.

She'd paint them. Butterflies. Beautiful things. Later communist iconography. Things she believed in bigger than her body.

I stare at the cast, David's cast, and think of Frida, and the only thing running in my head is a ribbon around a bomb, a ribbon around a bomb, a ribbon around a bomb…

Tick.

I'm walking towards the door, which means I still have legs… which I guess is nice to know.

Tick.

"Visceral, isn't it?" The girl asks me, with that tone of someone trying to sell something.

Because all of this, him, is for sale.

Boom.

I'm outside. And it's dark. And I can't remember how to get back to the hotel from here.

I yell, frustrated, and I don't care that a few people look.

They keep walking. I'm not that exciting.

My heart is pounding.

I yell again.

And again, after, because Jesus fucking Christ punching a brick wall fucking hurts.

I may have broken something.

My brain idly considers that.

But I can still move it.

And the scraped off skin on my knuckles… the sting actually feels good, in a way…

I start walking.

Because I need to.

I'll take a cab back, when I catch one.

My phone is in my hand.

The possibly-broken one.

Ringing.

Ringing.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What…" Tony sounds bored, the way he usually does on the phone, "What?"

I laugh, stupidly, "I just punched a wall!"

"Uh-huh?"

I think he's smiling.

"It really fucking hurts!"

He laughs, "Yeah. Right? Uh… why?"

"I…" I can't tell him, "I'm in New York."

Like that's an answer.

"Oh. Right, uh..."

I'm laughing, manic, and a cab passes by me.

"Did you have your thumb on the outside?" he asks me.

"No."

"Is it broken?"

"Uh," I check, "No. But maybe."

"You'd know if it was."

"Tony?"

"Yeah?"

I try to flag down another cab.

"What?"

"I miss Dad."

He doesn't say anything.

I get in, tell the driver the name of the hotel, shut the door.

And as we pull out, away from the gallery, Tony says, "Are you drunk?"

"No."

"High?"

"No."

He's quiet for a while, and I don't mind… I like having him there, on the other end… because then at least I'm not really alone… and I can focus on him… and not…

David with his hands tied behind his back.

David with ribbons around his throat.

David…

"I do, too."

I swallow.

Loudly.

"I love you, Tony."

"You're drunk! I knew it!" he laughs, awkwardly, and quickly ends the conversation.

But I'm glad he picked up, anyway.

He never picks up.

After a moment I call David's phone.

It rings.

He doesn't answer.

I'm feeling sick again, dizzy.

He's left me.

Just like that, I know it…

I can hardly breathe.

I fight back the tears, and even though the hotel isn't far it feels like it's taking forever.

The sound of horns honking barley grab my attention.

I don't know what I'm going to do without him.

I need to tell him.

I need him.

I don't care what he did then.

No matter how sick it makes me feel.

I love him.


End file.
